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“ Three men approached him.” See page 22, 




Henry Fielding’s Dream 

OR 

THE LABOR UNION 


BY/ 


CORTLAND MYERS, D.D. 

AUTHOR OF 

Midnight in a Great City,” “Why we do not go to Church,” 
“ Making a Life,” etc. 




NEW YORK AND LONDON 
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS 




THF library of 
GONHRESS, 
C<«»tE'3 ReCSIVEC 

AUG. 21 1902 

CnPVRIOHT ENTRY 

/ 3 - / 

CLASS CL XXc No. 

3 .TS 

COfY 8. 


Cop)rright, 1900 and 1902 
By STREET & SMITH 


Henry Fielding's Dream 


To the Carpenter of Nazareth. 


/ 




CONTENTS 


(‘n AFTER. Page. 

I. — Stopped by a Strange Question, . . 7 

II. — The Startling Sermon, ... 24 

III. — A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice, . . .41 

IV. — A Stormy Night in Union No. 10, . 60 

V. — In David Dowling’s Study, . . 83 

VI. — The Telegram from Home, . . loi 

VII. — A Minister in the Union, . . .121 

VIII. — In the Homes of the Poor, . . 141 

IX. — A Hero in the Pulpit, . . . 163 

X. — Henry Fielding’s Conversion, . 181 

XI. — The Chasm Bridged, . . . .199 

XII. — Is This a Dream ? .... 210 





HENRY FIELDING’S DREAM 


CHAPTER L 

STOPPED BY A STRANGE QUESTION. 

** Would Christ belong to a labor union?” was the 
question that almost startled Henry Fielding as it 
met his eyes at the corner of the street on the church 
bulletin. He was on his way to work in the early 
morning, and had already been detained at home, 
and also a moment by a friend on the way; but he 
could not pass on without pausing in front of that 
peculiar question and reading the smaller letters be- 
neath it. 

It was an announcement of the services for the 
next day in the church. The special sermon, the 
minister's name, the attractive music and a warm 
welcome for all. 

‘Well,” said he, ‘T have not been to church in so 
long a time that I would not know how to act, but 


8 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

I would like to hear what he has to say about that. 
If I live until to-morrow, I am going to change the 
Sunday programme and go to church.” 

He hastened on and turned around to glance at 
the other side of the bulletin. 

'‘That is not such a strange subject after all,” 
thought he. “The strange thing about it is that the 
preacher and the church are asking it.” 

Henry Fielding was a noble fellow in heart and 
purpose. He had an unselfish disposition ; his ambi- 
tions were kingly, but they were thwarted by circum- 
stances. No young man ever came out of a more 
truly religious home. His early life was enriched 
by the family prayer, the church service, and the 
Sunday school. He had learned whole chapters of 
the Bible for prize and pleasure both. His home 
was among the hill? of Vermont. A small farm, 
a small mortgage, a continuous struggle, and a rigid 
economy on the part of his parents were the environ- 
ment of those boyhood days. His father had died 
when Henry was but ten years of age, leaving his 
mother broken-hearted and in broken health to fight 
the hard and continuous battle alone. He was the 
eldest of three children — a sister, Elsie, of eight, and 
a brother. Will, of six. Those years of his responsi- 
bility and his mother’s heroism made an impression 
upon him never to be obliterated. The mortgage 
became no less ; rather^, as most mortgages go, it be- 


9 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 

came more. The interest had to come, and the eggs 
and butter sold, instead of eaten. Each year made 
him understand that he must bear more of the bur- 
den. 

It brought him into manhood before his time, and 
drew some of the sweetness and necessity out of real 
life. It is the tragedy of life to be an old young 
man. 

The natural and the ideal are to come with the 
years, and not force them. But circumstances swung 
the sceptre and said, *'Give up school; cover your 
eyes in front of other opportunities. Know not envy 
and thrust your jack-knife into the very heart of 
dissatisfaction. Stand by your mother V* The years 
passed by, and never saw his courage fail. 

Will came to be a young man of eighteen, and 
seemed to have more liking for the farm than his 
brother had ever been able to force into his heart 
or activity. 

Then Henry began to make his plans to go to 
the great city, learn a trade, become skilled, save his 
money, make an invention, have a manufactory of 
his own, get rich, help his sister, care for his mother, 
and forget forever bare feet, mortgage, butterless 
bread, etc. 

Oh, what dreams we have in the daytime ! Almost 
as strange as at night, and almost as far from reality. 
Yet it is better to dream than not. 


lo Stopped by a Strange Question, 

He now had been in the city several years, and 
worked hard and without any flagging zeal or de- 
termination, but a haze had been creeping across 
the star of hope in his sky. 

This part of his life was not just as he had planned 
or wished, but he had enough of the divinity of 
mankind in him not to be easily conquered. He did 
not try to push back the current, but he was not the 
one to be drowned in its waters. 

One day as he stood at his work, the man nearest 
him heard him say, “to-morrow.” 

He said, “Henry, what are you talking about?” 

“I did not know that I was talking about any- 
thing,” said Henry ; “but I do know that I was keep- 
ing up a serious kind of thinking.” 

“Well, you were thinking aloud this time. I 
heard a part of it, anyway.” 

“I am not afraid to tell you what I was thinking 
about. I was getting gloomy and almost in a fit 
of despondency. Plans fail so quickly and com- 
pletely, and to-day seems especially dark to me. In 
the secret silence of my soul I was saying over and 
over again : ‘There’ll be another day.’ If you heard 
me say ‘to-morrow,’ that is the reason.” 

His sister Elsie had written him a letter the day 
before, telling him of her deep desire to secure some 
advantages which the country did not furnish, and 
which she never could receive unless she could come 


II 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 

to the city and. have the best of training. She was 
in a kind of prison up there in the mountains, and 
there was no future for her. Her friends told her 
that she had a wonderful musical talent if it could 
only be cultivated. She played the organ for them 
in their little church, and often sang as no one else 
there could sing. She seemed the larger part of the 
church service. 

All this had only been the fuel on the burning 
desire already in her heart to know more and be 
more. Mother said she would sell the farm; but 
that would not help — rather, it might hinder. Henry 
was the only one to ask what could be done. 

This was the hard problem in his hand now. That 
letter was for a moment more puzzling and impor- 
tant to him than the map of Europe to Napoleon 
before the Battle of Waterloo. At last he stamped 
his foot and declared that this was more necessary 
than anything else, and ought to be done at once, 
even if all the other plans of the years" making 
should be opposed or even destroyed by it. 

He was careful in the use of his pronouns, and 
uttered the *‘you"" a score of times where once he 
spoke the “1."" Elsie was told to come to the city, 
and he would furnish two rooms. She could keep 
house for him and herself, and take her music les- 
sons. It would require all his earnings and destroy 
the possibility of saving, but the great lesson he had 


12 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

learned in the school of life had already taught him 
what it was to save — that hoarded treasure might 
not be saving. 

''This,” he said, "is the best method of saving, to 
place it in the bank of my sister’s life and let it draw 
interest forever. If I cannot get what I had planned, 
let her secure the object of her life. Perhaps in her 
ambition attained is the realization of my own.” 

Elsie had come to the city. The plans had been per- 
fected, the two rooms were furnished, or rather fixed 
so that a brother and sister who loved each other 
and understood the object of their toil and sacrifice, 
could live in them. 

The one had to be parlor, kitchen, sitting-room, 
library and Henry’s sleeping-room. A lounge at 
one side was his bed, a small stove was sufficient for 
heating the rooms and the cooking of their food, 
a few chairs and a table, some pictures, and every- 
thing without an atom of dust upon it and spot- 
lessly clean. 

Elsie’s training made two rooms the same as a 
palace to her, and taught her that there was no 
economy in dirt out of its place. 

It was Saturday night. The familiar step was 
heard on the stairway. The door opened. Elsie 
was in the other room, but shouted, "Hello !” before 
Henry had closed the door behind him. She 
hastened out to arrange the table as attractively as 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 13 

she possibly could. She asked him all about his 
day, and if he was tired ; then for a moment sat at 
the table .looking directly at him, her great eyes full 
of admiration for him. He was almost her idol ; at 
least, her ideal. 

Suddenly he said : '‘Elsie, I am going to church 
to-morrow.” 

“What,” said she, “do you mean it? I am so 
glad. What makes you say that? Why, I would 
think you were perfect if you would only go to 
church every Sunday.” 

“I won’t promise you that, but I will go to-mor- 
row morning if you will go where I want you to.” 

“Why, certainly, I will go wherever you would 
like, and I will give up my church any time if you 
would only attend some other one with me. Really, 
Henry, this has been the only bitter drop in all my 
cup — you having nothing to do with the church.” 

“Well, we won’t discuss that now,” said Henry; 
“but, anyway, I will go to-morrow. Perhaps it is 
only curiosity, but I will be there just the same, and 
that will in itself please you.” 

“What is the object of your curiosity, and where 
do you want to go?” 

“I am going to that church on the corner of North 
avenue and Thirteenth street. The minister’s name 
I have almost forgotten. The last name is Dowling, 
and I think the first name is David. That is a small 


14 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

matter, anyhow. I never notice the ministers’ 
names, and I had never heard of him until this morn- 
ing; in fact, I don’t know any of them, and don’t 
know as I care to.” 

‘‘Oh, Henry, do not say that! You don’t under- 
stand either yourself or them.” 

“I know enough about the churches and ministers 
to know that they have lost the spirit of the Bible, 
and have no real relation to the greatest needs of 
to-day.” 

“Wait a minute, Henry. They are trying to save 
the people, and that is the greatest need of this and 
all other days. What does saving people mean? If 
it does not mean saving them here and now, and 
saving the society in which they live, it does not 
mean anything.” 

“Better get this world right before they talk so 
much about the next.” 

“Oh Henry, that is not the way Christ talked !” 

“Yes, that is just the way Christ talked, and lived, 
too, if I remember the story right. Of course, I 
have not had much to do with it lately.” 

“I am sure that you do not understand the Gospel, 
or the purpose and work of the ministers and 
churches, or you would not feel just as you say.” 

“Now, Elsie, there is not any use in talking to me 
about this, because my convictions are fixed, and I 
believe in good reasons. I did not give up church 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 15 

and prayer and all my early training without suffi- 
cient cause. You have not seen what I have, nor 
have you passed through some of my experiences. 
A good many things ought to be made right, and 
the churches ought to be the first to enter into the 
work ; but they are the last, and most of them stand 
on the corner of the streets like sepulchres for dead 
people, instead of great centres where the business 
of Christianity is being transacted and the wrongs 
of human society are being righted. The working- 
men do not cross the threshold of these tombs to- 
day. There are one hundred and fifty men where 
I work, and only three of them go to church. There 
are one hundred and forty-seven heathen right in 
that one place, and I am one of them — not by chpice, 
but by compulsion.” 

'T cannot argue with you, Henry, but I am sure 
you are prejudiced, and don’t really understand 
what the Gospel mission is, or what the churches 
are doing. You talk about the wrongs of society, 
and all this, but what would this great city be with- 
out the churches ?” 

Henry turned in his chair and drummed on the 
table with his fork, and said, with a disgusted air: 
/Tt couldn’t be much worse. Say, Elsie, do you 
know that most working men think that the Church 
has not one particle of sympathy for them, but caters 
to the rich and well-to-do in order to be well sup- 


1 6 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

ported and build first-class buildings, and have more 
stately services. I declare some of them are like 
great icebergs now and make you shiver even to pass 
them. They ought to warm the world instead of 
floating down from the Arctic regions of philosophy 
and dogma to chill human society. I can’t help it — if 
all this is religion I don’t want any of it. It was all 
well enough when I was up in the country, but in this 
great, struggling, seething mass of humanity, and in 
this whirlpool of injustices — in the same city with 
sweat-shops and tenements and strikes to get wages 
and to keep life, the Church ought to do something 
besides sing and pray. It would be better to dispense 
with the preaching and do a little practicing.” 

“Hearken,” said Elsie, “I thought I heard a rap.” 

Then came that gentle tap, tap, tap, continuous 
and familiar. It was the noise peculiar, but always 
welcome. 

“Come on, old fellow,” shouted Henry. 

In walked a stalwart young man of bright eye and 
smiling countenance, quick step and vivacity in every 
move, almost to the point of nervousness. It was 
Richard Harding, Henry’s companion, and had been 
for several years. He sat down and then presently 
moved to another chair, and almost at the same in- 
stant arose and picked up a glass from the table and 
drank the remaining water in it, as he said: “That 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 17 

was a lively conversation in which you were engaged 
when I was coming up the stairs, and Henry seemed 
to be doing the most of it.” 

‘"Yes,” said Henry. “I just shocked her as much 
as if a bolt of lightning had come right down through 
the roof and landed on the middle of the table. I 
don’t know but that some of the dishes are broken.” 

“They are swept clean, anyway,” said Richard; 
“perhaps that was the effect of the lightning.” 

“Anyway, it was not a quarrel, was it, sister ?” said 
Henry. 

“No,” replied Elsie, “but I must confess to the 
shock, or rather a sensation, call it — a pleasing sen- 
sation.” 

“Well, what was it?” said Richard, “let me into the 
secret. You know I am one of the family.” 

“If you are one of the family,” said Elsie, “then 
you will have to go, too.” 

“Go where ?” said he. 

“I will let Henry tell you,” answered Elsie, with 
something of a merry twinkle in her eye. 

Henry sat with his feet crossed and his head lean- 
ing on the back of his chair, gazing at the ceiling and 
again drumming with his fork on the table, apparent- 
ly oblivious to all that was going on around him, but 
after a moment’s silence, in which Elsie had changed 
glances with and winked to Richard, he rolled his 


1 8 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

head over toward them, and said, ^‘What was you 
saying?'’ 

'‘Oh, nonsense,” said Elsie, “you know, come now, 
out with it, and then we will all three go together.” 

“Well, Dick, I am going to church to-morrow 
morning.” 

“Ha, ha, ha,” came from Richard’s side of the 
room. “After all you have said about the Church, 
and you having no use for it any more — now going? 
I thought as much ; your sister has been working her 
scheme, and, like all these women, they get just about 
what they want if you only give them time enough, 
and most always it doesn’t take much time. Well, I 
don’t wonder at her influence. I think I might be 
moved myself.” 

“Oh, no, it wasn’t for her this time ; it was my own 
decision and wish. I asked her to go with me. We 
wdll take you, too.” 

“Where are you going and what brought this into 
your mind. I don’t believe it has gotten into your 
heart yet.” 

“Will you go?” said Henry. 

“That depends,” replied he, “explain yourself.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to hear a preacher answer this 
question; ‘Would Christ belong to a labor union?’ ” 

“Oh, I see,” said Richard, “it is the subject that 
interests you, not the church.” 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 19 

'‘I guess that’s it,” replied Henry. “Anyway the 
pastor of this large church up at the corner of North 
avenue and Thirteenth street has advertised that as 
his subject. He must be a pretty good fellow, and 
that church just a little different from most others. 
There must be some sympathy there and anxiety to 
solve the difficult problems of the present date. Do 
you care to go with us?” 

“You know,” said Richard, “I don’t go to church, 
and in fact do not feel very guilty about it either, but 
wherever there is the slightest effort to give the great 
question of labor and its wrongs a hearing, I will be 
glad to go and listen with both ears; Yes, my whole 
heart, too.” 

“All right,” said Elsie, “at ten o’clock I will be 
ready.” 

“Yes,” said Henry, “at ten sharp the procession 
will start, and Elsie will be captain.” 

“Ok, no,” said she, “this is your doing, and you 
are the leader. Richard and I will walk together and 
you will lead the way.” 

“Say, Henry, have you seen the paper to-night?” 

“No, I have not, Elsie has taken all my time talk- 
ing about the Church; what is in the paper?” 

“Oh, just filled about the strike. It is in a greater 
mix-up than ever. The concessions that seem just 
about to be made are farther away than yesterday, 


20 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

and the motormen and conductors are more deter- 
mined than ever. The sad part of it is that they or 
their false friends have been destroying cars again, 
and even injuring some people in a car on the out- 
skirts in the eastern part of the city. That is death 
to their cause, and ours, too. I kept saying to myself 
all the way up here, ‘Oh, the folly and blindness of 
this method.’ ” 

“That’s so, I suppose,” replied Henry, “but — well, 
I don’t know what to say — I know this, they are over- 
worked and under paid and ought to have their 
rights.” 

“Come out for a little walk to the barber shop, I 
will bring you back to your sister in a few minutes 
all cleaned up and in good religious shape for church 
in the morning.” 

Elsie laughed as they walked out, and called down 
the stairs : “Come back soon, Henry, I have some- 
thing special for you when you get here.” 

They reached the street and had just turned toward 
the barber shop when Richard said : “Henry, what 
is that — see the crowd up the street, somebody must 
be injured.” 

They hastened toward the rapidly increasing num- 
ber of men, women and children. 

Henry pushed his way toward the centre, and his 
was not a push of curiosity, but of service. If there 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 21 

was any suffering, he always wanted to relieve it. If 
there was anybody receiving injustice he was anxious 
to fight for him. His noble, unselfish soul was cry- 
ing with him, “Let me help,” and his lips and hands 
carried it out into the world. It was the force of that 
spirit that made the way. 

Richard tried to follow in the wake of the great 
ship ahead, but the crowd closed in behind him. 

As Henry came toward the centre of the dense 
throng, he kept inquiring: “What is the matter, 
what is the matter?” but received no satisfactory re- 
ply. No one seemed to know just what had taken 
place, but Henry Fielding’s quick eye and brave 
heart were enough. He saw an old man with snow 
white beard and with features and clothing of refine- 
ment lying partially in the gutter. His hat had rolled 
into the middle of the street, and his face was not 
covered, but marked with blood. An ugly bruise was 
upon his forehead, where he had struck the stones. 
Instantly, Henry said: “Why don’t you help him 
up, why not carry him into the drug store over on 
the corner, do something for him.” 

Most of the crowd moved back, but Henry placed 
his strong arm under the fallen man’s head and 
shoulders, while two other men seized the lower part 
of his body and carried him into the drug store. 

With the aid of a physician, the insensible old man 
came back to life. The doors had been locked and 


22 Stopped by a Strange Question. 

the crowd kept out. Richard followed to the door 
and was waiting for the result and the story. 

When the injured man recovered sufficiently, he 
said he could hardly tell what had happened; it all 
came so suddenly, and was the farthest from any 
thought of his. He was on his way to that very 
drug store with a prescription to be filled out, and 
had ridden in a downtown car. He was just alight- 
ing from the car, when three men approached him 
and asked him why he patronized a railroad run by 
scabs and owned by a bloodthirsty corporation. Be- 
fore he could even reply one of them had struck him 
a blow which had felled him to the pavement. Then 
they instantly vanished in the darkness. He could 
not tell how they looked. It all happened so quickly, 
and, of course, did not know whether they were rail- 
road men or what they were. ^'Oh,” he said, ‘T re- 
member, one of them asked me if I did not know that 
they had asked people not to ride on those cars, and 
had warned them repeatedly against it, but of course 
I did not have any chance to explain or declare my 
rights or apologize or anything.’^ 

Everybody was expressing their indignation 
against such a dastardly outrage, but Henry never 
said a word. He completed his errand of mercy to 
the last letter of every requirement, and then quietly, 
and even unseen, withdrew. At the door he found 
Richard waiting and anxious to hear the story. 


Stopped by a Strange Question. 23 

Henry simply related the facts, but ventured no 
opinion, only to say: “I am for the laboring man 
and labor union, first, last and always. I believe in 
a strike when necessary — yes, this strike, but he is 
an enemy of his own cause who strikes his fellow.” 


CHAPTER 11. 


THE STARTLING SERMON. 

The dawn of the next morning carried the proph- 
ecy of one of the brightest and most beautiful days. 
It was a perfect October day, when the whole earth 
seemed to be touched with the colors of another 
world and musical with the harmony of heaven. The 
birds were vieing with each other in their victorious 
efforts to reach the highest notes, and even the silent 
forces seemed to be giving motion to the waves of 
song and joy. 

The trees of the city park and the proud one at the 
side of the street were clothed in the garments of 
autumnal glory, many colored and royal. 

Twice during the night Elsie had awakened with 
the thought of the church service in the morning, and 
each time struggled against her delight to forget it 
and become sleepy again. 

When at last it was daybreak and her eyes opened 
to the clear sky and joyful earth, she brought her 
hands together in the familiar style of her ecstacy, 
and said aloud, ‘‘Oh, I am so glad I prayed last night 
for just this, and my prayer has been answered j I 


The Startling Sermon. 25 

knew it would be and nothing would hinder our 
going.” 

Almost unconsciously she fell upon her knees and 
uttered the simplicity and sweetness of her pure grati- 
tude. 

In the other room, Henry had awakened too, but 
with far different thoughts and feelings. He could 
hardly realize that it was Sunday and that his plans 
for the day were at such variance with the several 
years of the past. He wondered whether he wanted 
to go after all. We are such prisoners of habit that 
sometimes when we have broken the iron bars, we do 
not know whether we want to escape or not. Man’s 
kingliness and divinity is in his power of escape, and 
becoming a free slave of the better. 

Elsie called out in her happy tone a “good-morn- 
ing” and a “hurry up.” 

“All right,” shouted he, “here goes for the promise 
and the sermon.” 

Their breakfast was soon ready and the prepara- 
tion for church made. 

Ten o’clock came, but Richard had not arrived. 
Elsie began to be restless and even nervous. She 
walked to the window, then into the other room, and 
said over and over again, almost in a prayer : “Oh, I 
wish he would come.” She was so fearful that his not 
coming or something else might prevent Henry’s go- 
ing. He might say that they would be late, or he 


26 


The Startling Sermon. 


did not wish to go without Richard, or a thousand 
other excuses which flashed through her mind, but 
he did not, and when no step was heard at five min- 
utes past ten, Henry said : “Come on, Elsie, we will 
go down the stairs anyway, and possibly we will meet 
him there. If not, we will hurry on without him.” 

When they came to the street, he was not there, 
and they were just returning toward the corner when 
from the opposite direction Richard was seen coming, 
walking and running in a sort of friendly tangle, first 
one and then the other. 

Henry acted the sharp-shooter and fired at him at 
long range : 

“Where is your alarm clock?” 

“Yes,” said Elsie, “when you make an engagement 
to walk to church with a young lady, and especially 
under such circumstances, with a protector and leader 
and guide, you ought to be on time. I rather ex- 
pected you to be so happy about it and so anxious 
that you would have been an hour ahead of time.” 

“Forgive me this once out of seventy times seven, 
and I will do better next time,” said Richard. “Real- 
ly, it was not my fault. Come on and I will explain.” 

“Oh, we don’t want any explanation,” replied 
Elsie. “Guilty, that’s all, just guilty, and the penalty 
will come some time.” 

“No mercy?” asked he, as he walked up to her side 
and to his appointed place. 


27 


The Startling Sermon. 

“Well/^ answered Elsie, “we will see how good you 
are, and if you go every Sunday and become so ac- 
customed to it that you will never be late again.” 

“I guess we have time enough anyway,” said 
Henry, “there will be room enough. The churches 
are not so crowded in these days that we need fear. 
The only question will be whether Dick and I know 
how to walk in and sit down and behave when we get 
there. Anyhow, I am going to lose my prejudice 
against the ministers and churches for this morning, 
and listen with an honest purpose. I have thought 
of that question a thousand times since I first saw it, 
and I wonder just how he is going to answer it. I 
think 1 can answer it, but I will wait until afterward.” 

“There are other things in church service besides 
the sermon,” said Elsie, “everybody ought to worship 
God, and' I hope that spirit will be in all of us. It is 
one of the commands, and it must be just as wicked 
not to keep that one as not to keep the others.” 

Neither one of her companions made any reply, 
but walked on* in silence for half a square, when 
Henry said again : “If curiosity is sinful then I am a 
sinner, because I will have to confess most of this 
comes under that name. 

The bulletin faced them at the corner again as it 
had Henry the morning previous. They all glanced 
at it, and hastened in, because the sound of the organ 
was heard, and the service had already begun. 


28 The Startling Sermon. 

At the door a friendly hand greeted them and 
passed them on to another man of genial manner and 
a smile of welcome. He ushered them to a seat in 
the best place that was vacant, and it was not so for- 
mal and cold and funereal and unattractive as im- 
agination had pictured it. There was life in the 
music, light in the building, sympathy in the prayer, 
earnestness and enthusiasm in the spirit. 

David Dowling was not an Apollo in appearance. 
He was neither striking in figure nor movement. Yet 
there was something about him that marked him as a 
man. He was just in the prime of life, with a quick, 
vivacious movement, a commanding attitude, and 
vigorous speech. Five years ago he had parted his 
hair on the left side ; two years ago it was parted on 
the right side, and now it was departed. His intel- 
lectual quality was strikingly manifest, and yet it was 
not of the Arctic type. He lived in the temperate 
zone, and almost near the unseen line of the torrid. 
He had a great heart and knew the definition of sym- 
pathy. His pulpit seemed to change into a throne, 
and the king was in his place. 

Henry and Richard both fastened their eyes upon 
him, and it was a look of increasing admiration. Es- 
pecially was this true when he arose and announced 
his text and his subject, and declared his emphatic 
and deathless determination to help the workingman 
and bring him and his Christ into their right relation 


The Startling Sermon. 29 

to each other. He said : “I have been criticised 
severely for asking this question: ‘Would Christ 
belong to a labor union?’ Some have said it was 
sensational. I am glad it is. Sensation is life. It 
has in it the life of to-day. Shame, thrice shame, upon 
a dead church and a dead preacher and a dead re- 
ligion. If the Church does not touch the life of the 
people, build it in the cemetery and call it sepulchre. 
If the gospel has any meaning, it comes with tre- 
mendous force into every part of human life. Christ 
Himself created the greatest sensation by the subjects 
which He treated and the methods which He adopted. 
He is an enemy of the Church who whines and whim- 
pers over sensation. He is preparing himself for 
death and judgment both. Some others have said it 
was bringing Christ down to ask this question con- 
cerning Him. He brought Himself down to the car- 
penter shop to save the workingman. God forbid 
that we should take Him out of His chosen place. 
The God of the heathen is not my God. He whom I 
worship and adore and am ready to die for is Jesus 
of Bethlehem and Nazareth and Calvary. He conde- 
scended to the level of every man’s life and work. 
If He was on earth to-day He would have something 
to say concerning the labor unions and something to 
do with them. That is a part of His mission, and the 
Church has been traitorous to the trust He has placed 
in it.^’ 


30 


The Startling Sermon. 


Then, with a long and effective pause, he said in 
the almost oppressive silence of the audience: ^Ts 
not this the carpenter? Jesus Christ is the best 
friend the workingman ever had.” 

‘'Did not He stand by the bench? Was not every 
nerve and muscle in His human body weary with the 
hardest toil ? Did He not wish some days that it was 
six o’clock when it was only three ? 

“How could it be possible that He would not have 
the deepest sympathy for the man in the same place? 
Would He not belong to any organization for the ele- 
vation of man!:ind? Anything that is good has the 
co-operation of the Son of God. 

“Would He belong to a labor union to-day? Let 
any man who says not stand up and prove his case. 
I declare unhesitatingly that every principle, every 
interest, every act of the life He lived, every line of 
the Book He inspired, is on the side of toiling men. 

“The Church which bears His name and the 
preacher who follows His example to-day must be in 
sympathy with every righteous effort on the part of 
organized labor. 

“True Christianity must ever be in closest sym- 
pathy with the working classes. It is true that some 
members of the Church may oppress the working- 
man and have little regard for the needs of the poor, 
but that is not the spirit of the Gospel, nor what I 
believe represents the real heart of the Church. 


31 


The Startling Sermon. 

“All members of the labor union are not true 
friends of the poor, however. It is conceivable that 
a walking delegate or an official may be friendly to 
the laborer in order to get and hold an easy position, 
and not be true to his profession. It is not just to 
condemn a thousand men because of the falsity of 
one. 

“Christ taught and the Church still works toward 
the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. 
He drove that great truth into human society with 
every stroke of His hammer in the shop of Nazareth. 

“It is an unadulterated mistake on the part of the 
working man to suppose that the Church has lost this 
spirit. Most churches are on his side, and have a 
royal welcome for the calloused hand that knocks 
at their doors. 

“There are hundreds of churches in the cities 
which are now half empty, and would do anything 
legitimate to bring every member of the labor unions 
within their doors. 

“I verily believe that the same spirit is in the 
preacher, and he is giving sacrificial blood to save the 
very men who will not come to hear him. The 
Church is not far away from Christ, nor is it far 
away from the labor union, as wicked and unjust 
enemies are constantly declaring. 

“Apart from the Gospel the labor union would 
never have existed It was born in the principles of 


32 


The Startling Sermon. 


Christianity and rocked in the cradle of the Church. 
There are no labor unions in the jungle of Africa. 
There is no Christianity there. 

‘^Christ was the author of brotherhood. He ut- 
tered the sublimity of life, ‘Do unto others as you 
would that others do unto you.’ He taught ‘Thou 
shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.’ 

“The Sermon on the Mount ought to be the union’s 
creed. He gave the only possible and practical solu- 
tion of the labor problem. 

“There is a labor question. There always has been. 
It existed when Christ was on the earth, only under 
a different form. At heart, it was the same. It may be 
more exaggerated now. The great labor movement 
is of modern times ; revolts were local in the past, and 
neither so widespread or continuous as to-day. What 
is the purpose of this great movement now? It is 
simply to procure for the laboring man a fuller and 
more just proportion of the things which toil pro- 
duces. Wealth has been marvelously increased by 
inventive genius, and the control of natural forces and 
riches. All men have shared in these advantages. 
The poorest man has that now which the richest 
could not have one hundred years ago, but there has 
not been justice in this division. The concentration 
of wealth has also impaired the interest of the work- 
ingman. This present day movement on the part of 


The Startling Sermon, 33 

labor seeks to level wages, shorten hours, to make 
men less like machines, to break the shackles of slaves, 
to improve the sanitary conditions of the factory and 
place of toil, to remove danger and disease from their 
environment. It seeks to protect women and chil- 
dren and maintain the right to organize. This organ- 
ized effort has had a marked and unquestioned effect 
in bringing wages at a point of possible and even com- 
fortable living. All this makes the labor question a 
burning issue at the very heart of society. A glance 
at the unorganized trade will reveal the difference. 
The man who has no protection from an organiza- 
tion is at the mercy of an employer who mav be a 
tyrant in spirit, and selfish to the last degree. A man 
is justified in securing the men to perform his work 
as cheaply as possible, but it is the business also of the 
workingmen to get as much as possible for their 
work. The labor organization may be wrongly 
guided sometimes, but this is not an argument against 
its necessity or benefit either. In the whole circle of 
the years and effort, the result has been beneficial, 
and not only for the laborer but for society also. You 
improve the condition of the workingmen by wages, 
hours and opportunity, and you give greatest blessing 
to the community in which they live and work. 

'There is a labor question — a burning question at 
the very heart of society. It is traitorous to deny it. 


34 


The Startling Sermon. 

The Gospel of the Carpenter of Nazareth for the 
labor union of which He would be a member is : 

“Justice for the worker. 

“Liberty for society. 

“Salvation for the man. 

“Justice is the supreme word in all demands of the 
labor unions. They have been misunderstood and 
misrepresented. A labor union has been supposed to 
be another word for organized anarchy and social- 
ism and nihilism. 

“Labor unions believe in law. One of their most 
righteous efforts has been to secure right legislation. 
That is one of their first objects. 

“They do not ask for sympathy. No kingly man 
takes the attitude of a creeping beggar. They are 
not crying at the door of society for sympathy. Nor 
are they organized efforts to secure charity. 

“Labor unions do not ask for the rich man’s money 
or any other man’s money, but make just demands for 
the workingman’s money. They say: ^Give us jus- 
tice in the hours of work and the remuneration for 
service and the respect wnich every honest man de- 
serves. We are not cattle, nor are we machines. 
We are men.’ 

‘^And they have knocked at the doors of legislative 
halls and demanded laws to control factories and 
mines and every place where men are compelled to 


The Startling Sermon. 35 

work, so that life shall not be imperilled nor health 
sacrificed. 

'‘Wonderful laws have they wrought out in this 
respect. It was only a few years ago that all the laws 
were made by employers, and no one can question 
their partiality. Now the labor unions, by virtue of 
their organized force, have been and are able to claim 
attention and respect and representation. 

“I congratulate them upon their attainment, and 
also upon the day in which they are living. The 
workingman was never so well off in the history of 
the world as he is to-day. 

“He has better wages, better hours, better homes, 
better opportunities, better everything. No thought- 
ful, honest man who has been a student of history 
can question that statement. Nevertheless much re- 
mains to be done in his interest, and I bid him god- 
speed in the securing of complete justice. 

“Justice is the word — do you hear me? Mistake 
it not. Define it. Understand it. Believe it. Live 
it. 

“It has the greatest circumference of any word in 
your vocabulary. 

“ ‘Give each man his just share,' is the battle cry of 
the labor union. And they ought to shout it and fight 
it until the last enemy of labor lies dead on the battle- 
field, and the last victory for right is won. 

“The Christian employer will always meet them on 


3 ^ 


The Startling Sermon. 


their level, explain the condition of his business and 
ask their judgment concerning their just proportion. 
And it has always resulted in the same blessing of 
harmony and mutual love and respect. This is not a 
dream nor even an ideal. 

‘Tt is a magnificent reality. 

^‘There is a gentleman in America who employs 
one thousand hands. He was asked some time ago 
when there was great trouble in the labor market : 

‘How are you getting on with your men ?’ 

“ ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I have no trouble.’ 

“ ‘Why,’ he was asked, ‘have you not had any 
strikes ?’ 

“ ‘No,’ he said, ‘in all these years I have not had 
even the shadow of trouble with my men.’ 

“The cry at the heart of every good labor organiza- 
tion is not a selfish, grasping, greedy yelp. It is the 
soul’s cry for simple justice. 

“The employer must learn to recognize it, and see in 
every man some remnant of the image and likeness of 
God which commands his respect, or there can be 
and there will be no peace. 

“But there is another element which is closely allied 
to this, if not bound to it by the bonds of a holy 
wedlock, that is, liberty for employer and em- 
ployee, member of corporation and member of labor 
unions, and every man, woman and child in the so- 
ciety where unions and corporations exist. 


The Startling Sermon. 37 

‘‘One of the perils of the day in which we are living 
is that that priceless treasure for which our ancestors 
fought and died shall be taken away from us, even in 
the times which are called peaceful. 

“That which we fought to give the black man, in 
Heaven’s name, do not allow to be snatched away 
from our grasp. Patrick Henry’s cry might be ut- 
tered to-day with just as much pathos and necessity 
in it as the day when it echoed along these Eastern 
shores of a new world and re-echoed through the 
corridors of heaven: ‘Give me liberty or give me 
death !’ 

“You are free men. This is the snap of the slave 
lash again. If a man wants to belong to a labor or- 
ganization let him belong. If he does not let him 
stay out. As you value your life keep your liberty to 
say ‘no.’ You are king yourself. Let no man put a 
manacle upon your hand or foot or head or heart. 

“Society also has interests, and sacred ones, which 
must be taken into account. The old blunder of pre- 
ferring force to moral agency is the secret of failure. 
Men have the right not to work, but have no right to 
prevent other men from taking their places. 

“The public will not tolerate this barbarous method. 
Under no conditions will they allow the liberties of 
those who desire to work to be destroyed. Neither 
will they allow the perpetration of outrages upon 
their own rights. 


38 


The Startling Sermon. 


“This is not the day when the obstinacy of a rail- 
road president or the dissatisfaction of a few hundred 
workmen can hurl injustice and inconvenience and 
risk of life into the centre of millions of people. 

“Every question which concerns the world of labor 
is of vital interest to Christ and the Church and so- 
ciety. Christ came to save the individual man and 
everything of value to his life. He came to save him 
for time as well as eternity. Anything which helps in 
this great work of mankind and the redemption of 
the world would have His assistance and blessing. 
He would say again upon earth and whisper it in the 
soul of every man : ^Come unto Me all ye that labor 
and are heavy laden and I will give ye rest.’ ” 

As he finished, Henry anxiously settled back in 
his seat. He had been holding himself slightly for- 
ward, and did not know it. He looked down at the 
back of the seat in front of him, and Elsie could not 
help but look toward him and wonder. 

She breathed a silent prayer that he might be 
pleased with the sermon, and that something might 
come into his life that very moment to change it. 

He sat like a statue until they arose for the bene- 
diction. 

When they reached the street, each one waited for 
the other to break the silence. 

Elsie could hardly hold back the query: “How 


The Startling Sermon. 39 

did you like it?’' But this was a peculiar occasion, 
and she must wait. 

At last Richard said ; 

“Well, Henry, what did you think of that?” 

“I am glad I went,” replied Henry. 

“That is not enough,” said Richard. “How did 
you like the answer to your question ?” 

“If I must be honest,” said Henry, “it was a revela- 
tion to me. The Church may not be as far away 
from us and our interest as we think it is. One 
preacher, anyway, is fair and courageous and sym- 
pathetic. I believe that if the workingmen could 
hear that kind of truth, the most of them would be 
in the Church very soon. He did not go as far as I 
wish he had, but it was a pretty long step.” 

Elsie's heart almost beat its way through the wall 
of its prison. 

Richard walked on, waiting for some one to ask 
him what he thought, but no one seemed very 
anxious to know, so at last he ventured to say : 

“He has a great deal of magnetism and oratory in 
him, hasn't he? You cannot help but listen.” 

“Yes,” said Elsie, “I don’t believe it was all in the 
subject.” 

“That was not my special interest, but I would 
like to hear him every Sunday.” 

“Yes,” said Henry; “he was so honest and earnest 
that everybody would be drawn toward him. I con- 


40 The Startling Sermon. 

fess that I had lost some of my prejudice before he 
had begun his sermon/’ 

‘'Will you go again ?” asked Elsie. 

“I will not make any more promises now,” said 
Henry, “but Dick and I may get the same notion 
again some day. Give this time to digest.” 

Richard said: “There is unquestionably a vast 
amount of misrepresentation of the Church and mis- 
understanding concerning it, and yet most of them 
are as indifferent as the stones in their walls to the 
wrongs of society and the needs of man. Why don’t 
they all discuss these burning questions, and in the 
name of the Gospel they preach bring in the liberty 
and justice and salvation of which he spoke this 
morning?” 

“Yes,” said Henry, “this is the opportunity of the 
Church. The working men are not so far away from 
its doors, if the Church people and preachers will only 
bridge the little chasm. Sympathy, interest, fear- 
lessness, truth are the stones and steel for that 
bridge.” 

“Here we are already,” said Elsie, “but you will 
both have to go again with me.” 

“You don’t need to urge me very hard,” said Rich- 
ard, as he extended his hand to her and said, “Good- 
by.” 


CHAPTER III. 

A RICH girl's sacrifice:. 

As soon as her work was finished that afternoon 
Elsie hastily made preparation to go out. 

Henry did not ask any questions, because he knew 
where she was going. 

It was often a part of her Sunday to attend the 
service at the mission in Ninth street. 

She was deeply interested in the work they, were 
doing, but had gone more as a listener than a helper, 
helper. 

She wished to-day that she dared ask Henry to go 
with her, but thought better not to go too far in one 
day. 

That is often the mistake of heart desire and 
anxiety. 

Zeal needs the bridle of tact, and love is better in 
the companionship of wisdom. 

In her delight over the morning’s experience she 
almost stepped upon the jewel and crushed it. 

An unseen angel clasped her hand and led her the 
right way. 

It was a quick farewell and a look of affection, and 
she was gone. 

Henry called after her : 


42 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


^‘If I am not here when you come back, I will be 
safe. I expect Richard, and we will be out some- 
where this fine day.” 

After a musical '‘all right” had sounded back, 
Henry said to himself and almost aloud : 

“What a sweet, simple, sincere girl she is. I am 
glad I had her come and give me the chance to sac- 
rifice for her. She has her own temptations and 
burdens, but knows how to meet them and carry 
them. Her Christianity is real. It means some- 
thing in her life.” 

He arose, and, with hands behind his head, gave a 
Sunday afternoon yawn, and said : 

“If there is no other proof on earth, here is one bit 
of logic that stands the test. Yes, if it is good for 
her, perhaps it is all my own fault that it has lost 
its power over me. The sun cannot make a garden 
in a cellar.” 

How unconscious she was of this irresistible influ- 
ence over her brother, but that is the method of influ- 
ence and the way of real Christian character every- 
where. 

Elsie had reached the mission and taken her usual 
place near the door, waiting to be of any service in 
teaching a class or as a listener in the Bible class, 
when, to her astonishment, who should walk past her 
and up toward the front of the small room but the 
Rev. David Dowling. 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


43 


She wondered what brought him there, what rela- 
tion he had with the work, and a whole chain of 
questions. 

She had been there several times, but never saw 
him before. 

He walked to the platform, and sat down in a va- 
cant chair by the side of the superintendent. 

She noticed how he smiled to this one and nodded 
to another near him, and also, as he passed through 
the room, how he touched with his hand of love a 
little curly headed boy, and thus created another 
smile in the world. 

The recognition was instant, and a child’s heart 
enlarged to welcome new joy. 

Elsie thought “he is just like his sermon; he is a 
practicing preacher. If Henry could only meet him 
and know him.” 

She whispered to some one who sat near her, and 
asked if Mr. Dowling came there very often. 

“Oh, yes,” was the reply. “You know this is a 
mission of his church.” 

Elsie gave a look of surprise and a nod of thanks. 

She almost forgot to give her attention to what 
was going on about her, so absorbed was she with 
her own thoughts. 

“Isn’t this strange; what a peculiar coincidence, 
though I am just as glad as I can be. I want to 
meet him, and perhaps this is the opportunity.” 


44 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


Just then some one approached her, and asked if 
she would not teach a class of boys only for this 
afternoon. 

It was but a momentary hesitation on her part 
when the consent was given. 

She sat down right in the centre of the unattractive 
group and tried to win their attention and their 
hearts. 

She could win almost anybody, but an angel di- 
rect from heaven and commissioned to secure the at- 
tention and affection of a class of boys in a mission 
school might have to go back and report failure. 

It was a tension upon her nerves, and a strain 
upon her patience. 

She never had such a time as this afternoon. She 
had tried it before, and with some measure of suc- 
cess. 

There was one boy with unwashed hands and even 
some remnants of last week upon his face. His hair 
was uncombed and uncut. His clothing was not 
ragged, but might have been even that with improve- 
ment. He seemed to be just possessed with an evil 
desire, and almost determination. He would not 
listen, nor would he sit still ; more than that, he and 
one or two others were pinching and pushing the 
ones next to them, and even went so far as to make 
paper balls out of their lesson leaflets and throw 
them across the room. 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


45 


In her heart she kept saying, “What shall I do?” 
and she might as well have said it in audible lan- 
guage, for they knew what she was saying, and only 
increased her trouble. 

She was wishing and almost praying that no one 
would see her and the class, and that the bell would 
soon ring for the lesson to close, but the minutes 
were so long, and still she talked on. 

She tried to tell them stories outside of the day’s 
lesson to interest and attract attention, but with- 
out avail. 

Some one was a witness of her task and the tax up- 
on her courage. Mr. Dowling stood at her side : 

“I want to meet you and know you. I don’t think 
I have seen you here before, but I am so glad that 
you are in this noble service.” 

She told him she had been there before, but not a 
regular attendant. She added that she had been 
anxious to meet him. 

“Before the school is over,” said he, “I want your 
name and address, and now I would like to see one 
of your boys for a moment.” 

While he was saying it he took the very one by 
the hand who had been the cause of most of the 
trouble, and led him to a side seat and sat down by 
him, placed his arm around him and began whisper- 
ing to him. 


46 A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 

Elsie could not hear what he was saying, but she 
knew. 

He was making it easier for her or somebody else 
the next time. 

What a holy mission that is on earth, preparing 
the way for Christ or one of Christ’s followers. 

The superintendent had done a different work that 
afternoon. 

He had taken two of the scholars in another class 
right out of their chairs and pushed them through 
the doorway, as he said : 

“When you can behave come back, and not be- 
fore.” 

Perhaps both ways were right and accomplished 
the object, but the first method seemed the most like 
Christ, and to have the greatest saving force in it. It 
was harder, but that is a part of Calvary. 

Just at the close of the school the superintendent 
said : 

“We are always glad to hear from our pastor, and 
I wonder if he has not something to say to-day.” 

There was silence as he arose, as there always was 
He said: 

“I was reading this last week of a beautiful Chris- 
tian young lady who wanted to teach in Sunday 
school, and there was no class for her. The leader 
told her to bring her own class, and he would find 
a place for them. That week she found a ragged boy 


A Rich Girrs Sacrifice. 


47 


on the street, asked him to come to her home, told 
him she would give him some new clothing if he 
would go to Sunday school with her the following 
Sunday. He promised her he would. 

"‘The first Sunday he was the only scholar; the 
next Sunday he was the only scholar, and the third 
Sunday he was not there at all. 

“She did not give him up, but found him, and 
found the clothes were being used for every day, and 
almost worn out already. 

“She tried him three times with clothes, and her 
heart’s best love, but he seemed to be bad, and only 
bad, and her work a failure. She told the superin- 
tendent sOj and said she must give him up. ‘There 
was not anything in him ; he was deceitful and mean, 
and they better let him go.’ 

“ ‘No,' said he, ‘try him once more.’ 

“She did, and in the very spirit of Christ stayed 
by her task. An angel could do no more. 

“That boy,” said Mr. Dowling, “was Dr. Robert 
Morrison, the first and great missionary to China. 
Mighty on earth and mighty in heaven! How do 
you teachers know what you have been doing to- 
day?” 

Elsie knew he meant her, and thought : 

“I will try it again if they want me to, and the very 
same class, too.” 


48 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


As soon as the school was dismissed, Mr. Dowling 
was at her side, and asked for her name and address. 

He was waiting to write it, but she had already 
written it upon a slip of paper and handed it to 
him. » 

“Where is your church home?’^ he said. 

“Well,’' she replied, “I hardly know what to say. 
I have not been in the city very long, and have not 
brought my letter to any church yet. I have been 
to several different churches, but was to yours this 
morning, and liked it very much.” 

“I suppose you came there because of your being 
to the mission before ?” 

She hastened to reply, but he interrupted her by 
asking : 

“Where is your old home ?” 

“In Vermont,” she answered. 

“What part of it?” 

She told him, and a look of surprise and mingled 
delight passed over his face as he said : 

“Why, I was brought up near there myself. Of 
course, I have not lived there for many years, still 
everything about that part of the country is familiar 
to me. That' makes me more interested in you. 
Now, I cannot talk to-day, but I am coming to call 
on you when you are home. Yes, if you want me to, 
I will come this week. Let me see. I can call for a 
few moments to-morrow evening.” 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


49 


^^You will be welcome/’ said Elsie. 

She wondered, and even partially sighed, as she 
thought : 

''VVe have so little, and in such a small place, I am 
almost ashamed to have him come.” 

He walked away, came back in a moment, and 
said : 

“Before I go I want to introduce you to one of 
our noblest young ladies, and one of the best work- 
ers in my church, also in the mission here, and every- 
where in the city. She is a very rich girl, the daugh- 
ter of one of the greatest manufacturers in the coun- 
try, but she sacrifices everything for Christ and the 
good of others. I am sure you will be glad to know 
her.” 

He turned, and motioned to a young woman near 
by to come that way. As she approached, Elsie saw 
an expression of character the like of which she had 
rarely, if ever, seen. 

Her features seemed to be the marks of Christ. 
She was graceful in form and move. She carried a 
certain charm which changed an introduction into a 
long acquaintance. 

It takes fifty years of introduction for some people. 
It takes fifty seconds for others. 

Familiarity and companionship always cost much 
if they are valuable, but it comes more quickly in 
some instances than in others. 


50 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


Elsie’s first thought was : “What a chasm between 
my condition and hers,” but condition is not char- 
acter, and the bridge was speedily swung across. 

Mr. Dowling hastened away after the mere men- 
tion of their names to each other. 

Grace Chalmers and Elsie Fielding had little in 
common except their devotion to Christ and a 
worthy ideal for life. 

Elsie could compete with her in that respect. 

Character is the queen’s throne, an ideal is the 
golden sceptre in her hand. 

Movement toward a high ideal is the act almost of 
divinity, even if the most of time is passed in the nar- 
row circle of two small rooms. Moving away from 
the ideal is at once the tragedy and pathos of life. 

They paused a moment in conversation and en- 
tered into sympathy with each other concerning the 
hard problem of a class of boys, for Miss Chalmers 
had experienced just about the same trouble as Elsie 
had. 

As they moved toward the door, she said to Miss 
Fielding : 

“Which way do you go ?” 

Elsie told her with some shadow of hesitancy. She 
was not proud, but she was human. 

“I am going that way myself,” said she. “At least, 
a part of the way, and you will have to let me go with 
you.” 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


51 


As they walked on, she said : 

think I saw you in church this morning. You 
sat right behind us, and as I turned around after 
the service I caught sight of you, and I think there 
was a young gentleman with you.” 

‘"Yes,” replied Elsie, “there were two of them. 
My brother and a friend of his. I remember you, 
too, but, of course, never thought of meeting you 
again, and, in fact, I was a stranger to everybody 
there. That was the first time, and I did not know 
until to-day that the mission belonged to that 
church.” 

“How did you like the church?” 

“Oh, very much,” replied Elsie. “I couldn’t tell 
much about the building and the music, because it 
was the sermon that especially interested us. My 
brother was very anxious to have that question an- 
swered.” 

“Well,” said Miss Chalmers, “we were all interest- 
ed in it, and I think this sermon was good and the 
subject ought to be talked about, but my father, 
while he does not say much, I know feels that the 
pulpit better leave such questions alone. Of course, 
he is a little'out of sympathy with some of the views 
brought out this morning. He is a manufacturer, 
and that is a standpoint he declares different from 
the pulpit. He says the ministers do not understand 
the situation and the difficulties. They are in danger 


52 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


of allowing their sympathies to run away with their 
judgment. If they had a few strikes on their hands, 
they might be able to preach upon the labor ques- 
tion. He said when we reached home this noon that 
when he went to church he wanted to hear the Gos- 
pel and not any discussion of the labor unions, but 
I am glad that Mr. Dowling has the courage to face 
the employers and speak the truth to them as well 
as everybody else. He does not hesitate or stop for 
anybody. All get treated alike with him, and he says 
if the Gospel means anything it means the solution 
of the labor question, and all other questions, and he 
is commissioned of Heaven to bring the principles 
of Christianity to bear upon every part of human so- 
ciety. He is a noble man, and does not bend his 
principle for anybody or anything. It hurts some- 
times, but he says : ‘The truth Jesus uttered had the 
same effect.’ ” 

Just then Elsie could not have been more aston- 
ished had an earthquake shaken the stones beneath 
her feet. They were at the corner, and from the 
other street came Henry and Richard, as if it had 
been timed by the watch. 

They came face to face with them. 

Elsie recovered instantly from her surprise, and 
said : 

“Well, I didn’t expect to meet you, but I am glad 
I did, because I want to make Miss Chalmers ac- 


A Ricli Girl’s Sacrifice. 


53 

quainted with my brother and his friend, Mr. Hard- 
mg. 

There was a look in Henry Fielding’s eye which 
only he who is skilled in reading character and un- 
derstanding the vast meaning in a glance or single 
expression could understand, or would even notice. 
Some new element of life had suddenly appeared and 
crossed his pathway. Was it an angel? 

After a moment’s conversation Grace said she had 
been delighted to meet them, but must hasten home- 
ward, as this was her corner. 

She disappeared in the direction of Flower ave- 
nue, where her home stood among those of the rich. 

"‘Well,” said Henry, “where did you find her?” 

“Oh, I have had the strangest experiences this af- 
ternoon ; but first tell me if you do not think she has 
a beautiful way.” 

“Yes, and even a beautiful face.” 

“Yes,” replied Richard, “but you didn’t give us 
time enough to take in the situation or the beauty, 
either.” 

“That’s right,” said Henry, “before I recovered 
from being startled and stunned, she was gone. 
Who is she, anyway?” 

“She is one of the richest girls in the city,” said 
Elsie, with a faint desire to tease and increase curi- 
osity. 

“What nonsense,” said Henry. “You will have to 


54 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


tell us where you met her, and all about her, before 
we believe such a story as that ; what can you have 
to do with one of the richest girls in the city? We 
must have gone to the planet of Mars if we have 
been introduced to a rich girl. That is not our so- 
ciety on the earth.” 

^‘Oh,” said Elsie, ‘T do not believe the rich and 
the poor are so far apart as it is pictured sometimes. 
Character and education and ambition — yes, real 
Christianity, are bringing them nearer together. It 
is just as true as I said it. That is Grace Chalmers ; 
she is rich, and her father is a great manufacturer. 
They sat right in front of you in church this morn- 
ing, and — and ’ 

“Hold on, hold on,” said both voices at the same 
time, “that is enough, give us the explanation. The 
facts seem like ghosts ; put the clothes of reality upon 
them,” continued Henry. 

“Who else do you think I met this afternoon?” 
was the only answer Elsie made. 

“Never mind,” said Henry, “tell us about the first 
case first.” 

They had now reached the door, and Henry said : 

“Come up, Dick ; you will have to hear the rest of 
this strange story.” 

“The rest of it,” said he. “I have not heard any 
of it yet, but here goes for the end of the chapter.” 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


55 

When they reached the rooms, they both declared 
that Elsie had delayed and tantalized enough. 

^'Now out with the whole thing,” said Henry. 

“Yes, not take off hat or anything else; sit right 
there,” said he, and make this startling revelation.” 

Then she told him of her amazement at seeing 
David Dowling come into the mission, of his pleas- 
ing manner, of the light and joy he seemed to carry. 
She related her trouble with the class and his er- 
rand of love and kindness to her, and the unman- 
ageable boy, also the story he told the school, and 
how she knew it was all for her sake. 

Then came the most interesting part of it, and not 
a word had been said by her listeners up to that 
point, and neither ventured a question now, only 
with their eyes. 

They looked toward each other with an expression 
of wonder if it was all so, and yet if Elsie told it, 
they knew it must be true to the letter. 

Then she went back in her story to tell how he had 
asked her name and address, and after the service 
she had to give it to him ; also of his saying that he 
was coming to call. 

Now a bright smile played on Richard's face, and 
he said: 

“Henry, that is for you. You will meet the parson 
now, and be good again.” 

“Nonsense,” replied Henry. “I have been once. 


56 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


but have not promised to go again, and I do promise 
to be away if I know when he is coming to see El- 
sie. But how about this rich girl ?” 

'^He called her over to where I was standing and 
introduced her to me, and left us to talk a moment, 
and then to walk home together.’^ 

“How do you know about her father and her 
money, and the seat in the church, and all that 
“He told me a part of it, and she told me the rest. 
Of course, Mr. Dowling gave me the information 
about her wealth, and he also said she had the great- 
est riches of character; that she was one of the 
noblest young women in the city, so pure in heart 
and unselfish in life. She was interested in every 
good work, and loved to help the poor and work for 
them in the mission and ever3rwhere.’^ 

“She must be an exception,” said Henry. “I don’t 
believe she moves in a large circle of her kind. That 
class of people are few in this city. Most of those 
with money are just living for themselves. What do 
they care for the suffering and sorrowing and starv- 
ing poor? They are as far away from them as if 
they lived in China.” 

“You must remember,” said Elsie, “that China is 
not very far away, and all people in this world come 
closer to each other than they think. You may be 
right, and yet partially wrong, Henry. There is not 
such a great gulf between the working people and 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


57 


those with money. It is possible to cross from one 
side to the other, anyway, and some of the rich people 
are doing more than anyfixly knows, except God. I 
was reading in the paper only yesterday of a poor 
woman who attempted suicide by jumping from the 
pier. She held her starving child to her bosom. 
They rescued her, more dead than alive» and carried 
her to the hospital. In the night she died, and that 
next afternoon one of the richest ladies in the city, 
the wife of one of the largest business men in Amer- 
ica, came with her carriage to get the orphan and 
crippled child, and care for it as her own. Was not 
that Christ-like? Even Jesus could not do better 
with money than that, and that is only one of thou- 
sands of like cases, I believe.’’ 

“That is good to say, and rather sweet to think,” 
said Henry; but, Elsie, you don’t see and know 
what I do. That is only a drop in the great ocean 
of want and wrong.” 

“I cannot help it,” replied she, “I still believe 
there is a great deal of good in this world, and some 
unselfishness among the well-to-do class.” 

“Some is a good word, sister,” said Henry; “but 
what more do you know about Miss Chalmers?” 

“Ah,” said Richard, “that question is a window. 
The light is in Henry’s heart now. That shows 
where his interest is. I thought he would not care 
whether there was any woman in the world besides 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


S8 

his sister and mother, and now he is suddenly 
changed. What will not an hour do?’’ 

“More than run the minute hand around the face 
of a clock,” answered Henry. 

“How strangely circumstances change and things 
work out in this world,” said Elsie. “Wasn’t it a 
peculiar thing that I should meet these very people 
whom we saw and heard this morning, and I not 
know that the mission had anything to do with the 
church to which Henry was taking us? Anyway, I 
am just delighted, and I am going to that church all 
the time now, and do more in the mission, too, than 
I have done. This has been a new day in my life.” 

“It seems like one in mine, too,” said Henry. 

“I belong to the family, Elsie says, and it must be 
in mine, too,” said Richard. 

“Was her father at church this morning, I won- 
der,” said Henry. “He probably does not go to 
church, or the preacher would not ask that question 
in his sermon, and answer it as he did.” 

“Yes, he was there,” said Elsie; “his daughter told 
me so.” 

“Well, I think more of that minister than I did 
before. I supposed he was like all the rest of them, 
afraid to speak the truth unless it pleased the people 
who paid his salary.” 

“I do not think you need look at Mr. Dowling 
more than once,” said Elsie, “to know that he has 


A Rich Girl’s Sacrifice. 


59 


the courage of his convictions and would speak any 
time and any place what he believed God told him to 
say/' 

“I believe that, too,” said Richard. “I like to 
agree with your sister, Henry, on general principles, 
but in this she is certainly right. I believe the man 
who preached that sermon this morning is both 
honest and heroic. Your world and mine is changed 
somewhat by it, and if that kind of sermons were 
preached in every pulpit, with backbone and heart 
and blood in them as well as brain, the churches 
would be crowded and society would be saved. The 
enmity between classes and the fighting between em- 
ployers and employees would cease. Men who do 
not go to church are not necessarily totally bad and 
destitute of all conscience and religion. They want 
to have the truth given application to the burning 
questions of the day. Don’t you think, Henry, that 
most men in our factory have respect for Chris- 
tianity and a belief in it, and even respect for the 
Church; but they don’t believe in the present cold 
and impractical methods of pulpit platitudes.” 

^‘Yes,” said Henry, “David Dowling is on the 
right track, and we will go again.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


A STORMY NIGHT IN UNION NO. 10. 

“You will have to make haste with me to-night, 
Elsie,” was th^ way Henry greeted his sister the 
following evening, as he rushed in from work, and 
at once began hurried proceedings to get ready to 
go out again. 

“What makes you in such a rush to-night?” she 
asked. “Is there something unusual at your meet- 
ing?” 

“‘Yes,” he replied, “we expect a stormy night over 
the treatment of the street car men who are out on 
a strike, and besides, we are threatened with a lock- 
out ourselves.” 

“Well, you need not go on such a run through the 
house, and through your supper. You will have am- 
ple time.” 

“No, I have not,” he answered; “there are some 
things which I want to arrange before the hour, and 
I am on a committee which meets a half hour pre- 
vious to the regular meeting.” 

“Oh, Henry, I believe you, and always believe 
you,” with a bright flash in her eye, and a smile dart- 
ing across her face, “but I just happened to think of 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 6i 

something, and I know you have thought of it, and 
that is the secret of your hurry to-night. The 
other may be in it, but this is in it, too. Come on, 
the table is all ready, and I will do my part to make 
no mistake in the schedule time. If the train is late, 
it will not be my fault.’' 

“What do you mean by your conundrum?” 
queried Henry. 

“Oh, you know.” 

“No, I don’t; and that answer is neither a black 
one nor a white one.” 

“Just think a moment while you are loosening your 
collar button.” 

“Do you mean the preacher’s coming here?” asked 
he. 

She laughed, and said : 

“That is the old way of crawling out. Asking a 
question, and in the interrogation mark is the whole 
story. You are just trying to get out before he 
comes.” 

She did not say it, but could not help wishing 
something would break, or Mr. Dowling would 
come earlier, or almost anything so that he would 
meet Henry before he went. 

“You are not blind, Elsie. To tell the truth, I 
am quite willing to be down the stairs and about a 
block away when he gets here. I have not anything 
against him, but a great deal now in his favor. Yet 


62 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 


a minister is not just my kind, and I would as soon 
be necessarily absent. You are a church girl, and 
can talk all evening with him. I have not anything 
in common, you know, and you can give my re- 
grets. I don’t know just what I mean by that, but 
you give it just the same.” 

Henry followed to the letter the prescription for 
dyspepsia, and swallowed his food without injury to 
its form or feelings, and quickly finished his dress by 
throwing on his coat and hat at the same time. 

He started to the door, and was saying good-night 
to Elsie, when there was a footstep in the hall, and 
a careful rap at the door. 

Elsie understood that strange and expressive look 
upon Henry’s face — almost a startled appearance. 

She said : '‘Open the door.” 

As he did, a ringing voice, laden with joy, said : 

“Good-evening, Mr. Fielding; I have not met you, 
but I know you. Anybody could tell that you were 
the brother whom your sister told me about.” 

Henry was embarrassed for a moment, but quick- 
ly recovered to say : 

“Come in; you are very welcome; of course, I 
know who you are, too. I have seen you before.” 

Elsie immediately arose to greet him, and offer 
him their best chair. 

“You will have to excuse me for coming so early, 
because when I promised you to call I forgot that I 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 63 

had another engagement for the evening which I 
could not break, and so came here for a moment on 
my way.” 

Henry was waiting, and almost holding his breath 
to get the first opportunity to say: “You will have 
to accept my apology for going, because I was on 
my way to the door just as you came.” 

At last he said it, and added : “I suppose that does 
not make any difference, because you came to see my 
sister, anyway, and not me.” 

“Oh, no,” said Mr. Dowling, emphatically. “I 
know about you, and rather think it was as much 
for you, if not more.” 

He was quick to read character and look through 
the surface of circumstances. He knew what would 
please Elsie best, and at the same time be at least a 
silk thread around Henry, whom he was already 
anxious to take as a prisoner for Christ. 

No one knew how his heart went out to save men, 
especially young men away from home and away 
from God. 

Whenever he saw a noble-looking fellow like 
Henry outside of the Church, and a good, honest 
purpose in his soul, he said “It seemed as if Cal- 
vary was upon him.” 

The people who only heard him preach did not 
get into the secret of his life. Sometimes even his 
methods and subjects of sermons and utterances were 


64 A Stormy Night in Union No. 10. 

misunderstood and criticised, and even condemned, 
yet through everything he did and said there ran the 
one purpose — to help fulfill the holy mission of his 
Saviour. 

He could begin a sermon almost anywhere, but 
he never failed to end it at the Cross. 

The moment he saw Henry Fielding he detected a 
man for whom Christ died, and worthy of his best 
efforts. Henry’s apparent anxiety to go only made 
him more anxious to reach him in some way, and 
he felt that it was not to be a task marked impossible. 

It is this spirit in a consecrated man’s soul which 
is always victorious. 

When Henry closed the door he could not refrain 
from saying: 

“I heard your sermon yesterday, and I am coming 
again.” 

‘T thank you,” said Mr. Dowling; ‘T shall look 
for you.” 

He turned toward Elsie and remarked : 

“You evidently have a noble young man for your 
brother. He carries the marks and bears inspec- 
tion.” 

“Yes,” said Elsie, “there is only one thing lack- 
ing; if he would only become a Christian and a 
member of the Church, I would think he was per- 
fect.” 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 65 

^‘I imagined he was not much of a Church fel- 
low, but we will bring him” 

would be so happy if that could be,’^ replied 
she; ‘‘I would give up anything in the world if it 
would only come true. I cannot tell you how happy 
I was. I think I was the nearest to heaven I have 
ever been last Sunday morning when he went to 
church with me, and it was all his own suggestion. 
I know God has answered my prayer. I have asked 
Him a thousand times to do this, and He has worked 
out everything so strangely and yet so beautifully.” 

^‘Tell me about it,” said Mr. Dowling. 

Then Elsie related to him the story of the church 
bulletin, the labor union, Richard Harding, the 
service and their pleasure in the sermon. “Now, 
this is the strangest part of it. I know some people 
would say, ^Oh, it was just chance,’ but I know God 
answers prayer. Why should I go to the mission 
yesterday afternoon? I had only been occasionally, 
but I seemed impressed with a certain resistless 
necessity that I must go. I had to hasten more than 
ever, and I was late at that, but I went. Then, to 
my astonishment, I saw you there for the first time, 
met other friends who had seen us in the morning, 
even to be interested and friendly enough to walk 
home with me, and, strangest of all, to meet my 
brother and his friend Richard on the corner of the 


66 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 

street where Miss Chambers and I were to separate. 
Now he has met you.’' 

“Well,” interrupted Mr. Dowling, “that is a chain 
which only a higher power could forge. The eyes of 
the world do not discover the working and are blind 
to the intricate methods of His answer, but the in- 
tricacy does not destroy the validity.” 

“That is just what I believe,” said Elsie. “I know 
my prayer has been answered, and I am sure the 
end is not yet.” 

“Just what is the reason for his not going to 
church?” asked Mr. Dowling. 

“I do not believe he has a good one,” answered 
Elsie, “but he thinks he has. I fear he misunder- 
stands the Church and its real work in the world. 
He thinks you ministers have no sympathy with the 
workingmen, and the churches are just for the rich 
and well-to-do. I fear he has gotten to be almost a 
socialist, or something like that. I do not believe 
he is an infidel. I know he believes in God. Yes, 
I know he believes in Christ. But, then, he says 
there is little of the real spirit of Christ in the 
Church. He does not believe it is very anxious, 
if desirous at all^ to have him and his class. He 
witnesses so much injustice in society and so many 
wrongs placed upon the laboring men that he says 
his work is in the labor union, and he can make the 
best fight for the right there. He is one of their 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 67 

best workers and most enthusiastic supporters. He 
is on committees, and has held office, and even makes 
speeches sometimes. Yes, he has advocated strikes, 
and been a participant in them. The one now go- 
ing on is taking all his interest. It is in all this, Mr. 
Dowling, he thinks the Church stands off on one side, 
and is deaf to the cry of real need and speechless 
before the deepest necessities and darkest sins in hu- 
man society.’’ 

David Dowling had been looking right at Elsie 
when she began to tell him this story, but before 
she was half-way through his eyes were upon the 
floor, at his feet, and his mind and heart were fol- 
lowing every word that she uttered. At her first 
real pause he shook his head and said : 

‘T am afraid he is not the only one.” 

“No,” said Elsie, “his friends, and in fact, all his 
associates, feel just the same. He says there are one 
hundred and fifty men in his place of business, and 
only three of them go to church.” 

“There must be some reason for all this. I hardly 
know what to say about it,” replied Mr. Dowling. 
“Only I know this, that there has not been anything 
in all my recent ministry that has troubled me more 
than this, and by God’s help I am going to do my 
best to change this feeling on their part. Of course, 
they are wrong in a measure, but is not the Church 
to blame, also? Anyway, Miss Fielding, I promise 


68 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 

you to do my best for your brother, and I believe 
he can be saved for the Church and be a wonderful 
element in the work of bringing the unions and the 
churches nearer together. Perhaps they do not un- 
derstand us, and I am quite sure we do not under- 
stand them. 

“Now I will tell you what we will do. You come 
to our church, take your class in the mission, be 
one of us in interest and service, and we will gradual- 
ly get into his heart and life. You cannot do the 
greatest things in the world all at once. We will 
be patient, but persistent. It is easier to turn elec- 
tricity or steam into a new channel than it is a life. 
I am convinced that any man can be reached by love 
and the spirit of God. You get him to come next 
Sunday. I will watch for him, and be sure to grasp 
his hand, and also to introduce him to some of our 
best people. We will use all means toward the same 
end.’^ 

“He is so opposed to it all,” said Elsie, “that I am 
afraid, and yet I will try not to lose any faith, but 
will just give all my prayers to this, and I am so glad 
that you have come. I believe God sent you, al- 
though I was almost ashamed of these two rooms 
as being all of our home, and being up three flights 
of stairs, but now I do not care, and I will tell you 
more about him some time, and my coming here, 
and why everything is just as it is.” 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 69 

‘‘That is what I want to know,” replied he, and in 
his tone was deep interest in everything which con- 
cerned others. 

“But I must go,” he continued, as he looked at his 
watch. 

His call had been an informal one, even if it had 
been the first. It did not carry the professional air, 
but a warmth of love that made her say three times 
before he had closed the door “that she wanted him 
to come again.” 

When he had disappeared she sat down alone in 
the room with some of the strangest thoughts and 
feelings of her life, mingled joy and wonder and 
hope. Yes, in the combination was an element of 
faith — simple, yet confident. 

She was powerful in her womanly characteristics, 
yet childlike in her purity and simplicity. 

She bowed her head to the table and only thought 
at first, when almost unconsciously she was praying, 
and the tears of deepest gratitude were dropping up- 
on her hands, while angels came from heaven to 
gather up the precious jewels. 

Her brother was also passing one of the sign- 
boards of his life and stood at the fork of the roads. 

Oh, that he might turn to the right. Every man 
has strategic points in life. He is victor who follows 
his vision. The man who refuses to see or refuses to 
obey is lost. 


70 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 

It was a stormy night in Union No. lo. 

The necessary business had been transacted, and 
the time was ripe for interest and enthusiasm in the 
one absorbing topic. Not only was there a strike on 
the part of their fellow-workingmen, but they were 
standing before a lock-out in one of the factories 
where several hundred of the men were employed. 
As far as they could see, they were absolutely guilt- 
less. 

Of course, there had been some talk of objection 
to the introduction of new machinery to take the 
place of the men, and especially the skilled men, and 
now the company, some one represented, had sent to 
a distant city, and were shipping in a whole crowd of 
non-union men to take their places. 

It was only report, but enough evidence around it 
to convince them of a foundation in fact. 

Every man was ready to have something to say, 
even if he had never attempted a speech in the meet- 
ing. 

Most of the sentiment uttered was bitter, and many 
of the words were bullets. 

The whole spirit was fight — and why not? It was 
a question of right and justice. A question of bread 
and home. 

Frank Peters, one of the leaders in speech, de- 
clared that it was more than that. It was just as 
great a question as lay in front of Abraham Lincoln 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 71 

when he signed the Emancipation Proclamation. It 
was a question of liberty. “We are slaves to the pres- 
ent system/’ he shouted, and everybody cheered. His 
blood was now at the boiling point as he cried: 
“Fight ! Yes, fight; that is our only hope. I would 
just as soon carry a musket in this cause as to carry 
any gun that was shouldered in the War of the Re- 
bellion. Yes, rather. This battle and this cause is 
farther reaching. We ought to cry in the labor 
unions, Xiberty and Union now and forever, one 
and inseparable.’ It is inseparable from our 
unions, and the victory we must have and will 
have.” 

Again the applause was tremendous, and he 
scarcely waited for silence before he plunged into a 
wave of his own kind of eloquence against the crim- 
inality of this present proceeding upon the part of 
the employers. 

“They want everything, and are willing to use us 
only as machines. When the machine can do more 
or better, we must be thrown out to be the old, 
worn-out, rusty rubbish of society. I, for one, stand 
firmly against the whole infamous proceeding, and 
will starve before I give up the fight.” 

He sat down amidst a roar of noise, part talk and 
part the confusion of approval, but before order was 
restored Tim Marden was entering vigorously and 
almost violently into the discussion. 


72 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 

He began talking about the street car strike, and 
the perfect justice of their cause. Their hburs were 
too long, and their pay was too small, and there was 
no help for them, only in making their righteous 
demands, and, when they were refused, to strike. 

Some one interrupted : '‘Yes, but they might have 
tried to arbitrate it first.’' 

The interrupter was silenced, and the speaker 
went on : 

“Neither we nor they have much sympathy from 
any source. The public does not appreciate our po- 
sition and does not realize our wrongs, nor the in- 
justice we are constantly suffering. Neither do they 
understand that if it was not for our unions it would 
be a thousand times worse. They do not know how 
we have by hard fight secured all the advantages we 
now possess, and that the iron heel would press us 
harder than it does if we did not 'squirm and twist 
and struggle as we do. The people outside of our 
organization will come to see differently some day. 
Keep up the battle, my boys, keep it up. The 
Church and the ministers have religion, but in the 
place where it ought to be practiced most, not an 
atom of it is seen. Some of them do not know what 
religion is. Why don’t they help our cause, if they 
are harping all the time on the Golden Rule and the 
Sermon on the Mount? They ought to be the first 
to help us, and they could if they would, but they 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 73 

don’t seem to have any sympathy whatever. They 
are afraid of losing their support by losing Sam Dex- 
ter and his kind — millionaire church members. They 
would rather have him than help us. I tell you, the 
whole business is out of shape. Society and religion 
and everything. 

''See that hand?” said he, and he pushed out his 
great palm in front of him with an energy which al- 
most dislocated it. "That will be palsied and dead 
before I give up the battle. I will help the street car 
men, and every other man, and that right arm, I 
hope, will wither and die while I live and drop from 
its socket if I do not keep my promise.” 

They gave another cheer to the echo, and some 
one else took the floor to swear allegiance to Union 
No. 10 and make a plea not to give in. 

A half dozen were attempting at one time to say 
their say, but the man who had the best lungs had 
his chance first. 

There was one young man in that company who 
was having the greatest struggle of his life. The 
severest demands were being made upon his moral 
heroism. A deep conviction was in his soul. Should 
he hide it or slay it, or swear allegiance to it even 
though he faced the mouths of a thousand cannon? 
He had spoken before. They were always glad to 
hear him, and sometimes called for him, but now he 
was trying to hide himself and answer the voice 


74 A Stormy Night in Union No. lO. 

which only his own soul heard. It was clear and 
distinct. There was no question about its demands 
and its reality. 

Henry Fielding was not a Wendell Phillips, but he 
lived in the same world, and in his own sphere was 
subjected to the same forces and experiences. 

He had only the week before read a part of the 
life of Phillips. It was now fresh and vivid and em- 
phatic in his memory. The great man's life was so 
far removed from his that he had never thought of 
bringing even the illustration to bear upon his own 
day and own world. 

How little we know of the meaning of a single in- 
cident in another life, or a single sentence from an- 
other lip in its relation to ours. The page of a book 
may make the paper of a kite which carries the first 
strand of the bridge over an impassable chasm. 

Henry had been reading with great interest of that 
wonderful hour in American history when the young 
patrician, Wendell Phillips, was in his law office in 
Boston and heard the shouts of a mob in the street ; 
how he rushed to his window to see the citizens of 
his own city dragging William Lloyd Garrison over 
the pavements with a rope about his neck. The 
blood marks were left upon the sharp stones. They 
cursed him and kicked him, but he shouted that he 
would not be silent, but must be heard. 

The young lawyer, with a lofty plan for life — pol- 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 75 

ished attorney for the higher class — looked out upon 
that cruelty and inhumanity, only to find his blood 
becoming hotter in his veins, while he stamped his 
foot in indignation as he closed the window, and sat 
down in the struggle with his own soul. 

He, in that sacred moment^ heard Christ say: 
“Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of 
these, ye did it unto me,’’ and when he heard the 
Saviour of men say that, he made the holiest resolu- 
tion of his life : 'I wdll follow the right and the lib- 
erty of my fellow-men, even if they mob me and I die 
in the shame of a wicked age.’’ 

Then on the platform of Fanueil Hall he arose to 
deliver that famous speech, amid the hisses and 
abuses of some of the best-known people in 
America, but he braved the cyclone of wrath, and 
suffered for Christ’s sake, until in the years, the very 
people who slandered him, and would have murdered 
him had they dared, led their children to his monu- 
ment in that same city, and told them to read his 
name and never forget it, because it was one of the 
greatest on all the pages of history. 

This wonderful act of sacrifice and heroism had 
made such an impression upon Henry that when it 
came back now, it was with renewed emphasis. 
Some things grow in memory as well as in the soil. 
God’s sunlight falls upon it, and heaven’s drawing 


76 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 

power brings an oak out of an acorn here, as well as 
upon the hillside. 

His struggle was in a smaller circle, but it was just 
as intense. 

Conscience and duty and right had just as much to 
do with it. Yes, sacrifice may be covered in Henry 
Fielding’s life, but it was covered only because of its 
value and sanctity. Life was not dear to him. He 
was now hearing only part of the fiery speeches, just 
enough to bring more heat to his own burning con- 
victions. 

Some things had been said here and before this 
which he knew were too extreme and almost past the 
boundary line of truth. The wholesale condemna- 
tion of the Church and the ministers in their rela- 
tion to the labor union was unjust, and he never, 
until now, had realized it. 

He had thought and said the same thing, but he 
kept repeating to himself “there is one bright excep- 
tion I know, anyway, and there must be others.” 
Perhaps we have injured our cause as much as they 
or anybody else have injured it, by not investigating 
and understanding the churches and their people, 
and then making such broad and sweeping state- 
ments. Ought not somebody to 

Just then Paul Spaulding secured the floor. He 
was a bright young fellow, who had received the 
best of education, and had chosen to learn a trade 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 77 

with a view to knowing his business before he at- 
tempted to manage a place of his own. He began by 
saying that they knew him and knew how sympathy 
for the union and its work had grown upon him, 
and he was going to see justice done, even though 
his life's ambitions were blighted. He said he had 
hoped to see public sentiment aroused in their be- 
half and the churches their special supporters in the 
struggle for the right, but he went on : "‘As has been 
declared here to-night, it seems to be going farther 
away from them. The preachers live better than we 
do, and are satisfied. They do not seem to care 
about our condition and absence from the church. 
If they would, they could change this whole stream 
and turn it into another and better channel. 

“I noticed that one of them did venture in the city 
last Sunday to preach about ‘Would Christ belong 
to a labor union ?' I did not hear for myself, but it 
was the old story they tell me. He did not take any 
firm stand or even answer his own question. They 
say he just smoothed over the rich employers in 
front of him, and gave some platitudes about labor, 
and that was about all there was to it. Yes, one 
man told me that he said positively that Christ would 
not join a labor union." 

The struggle had grown with more intensity in 
Henry's soul, and the question was : “Should he be 
true to his convictions, or any way true to that which 


78 A Stormy Night in Union No. 10. 

was fact concerning David Dowling’s answer to that 
question, and not get any applause, or should he 
speak as the others had, and be cheered.” 

The picture of Fanueil Hall came before him con- 
stantly. He saw the pale face and slender physique 
of Phillips, and the striking attitude of his coura- 
geous soul as his long arm swung around in thrill- 
ing eloquence, and his finger pointed toward the 
Attorney-General. 

Just then something whispered to him with dis- 
tinct utterance, ‘Uoward — coward.” 

Instantly, he was upon his feet, and began to 
speak, pushed on by the holiest impulse of his life. 

“Gentlemen,” he began, “I rise to declare myself 
once more on your side, which is the side of right 
and humanity and God. You know my sentiments 
concerning our cause, and in this present situation 
they have not changed one iota. If we cannot have 
justice without a strike, I will lead the strike and 
starve in the battle. I do not believe we have had 
our just share of the product of our toil yet. The 
greed of capital must be checked, and every ounce 
of my blood is ready for sacrifice in behalf of the 
honest and hard-worked men of this land.” 

The cheers and approval had not before arisen to 
such a pitch as they did following these sentences. 
The listeners were all intent for more. 

“But,” he continued, “I wish to-night to register 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 79 

my name on the side of fairness and truth. There 
is sympathy for us, and I have discovered it. It is 
one of the brightest stars in our sky. It is brilliant 
with prophecy. It is the flashing jewel of hope in 
the night. We have been pleading for justice — let 
us give justice to others. That is the only way in 
God’s government to secure it for ourselves- Our 
cause is lost if we are hypocritical and demand that 
which we are not ourselves ready to give. At all 
hazards, let us have the truth. 

'Tt has been said here to-night that all the rich are 
our enemies. I do not believe that. I have been 
thinking and seeing in these last days. While there 
is selfishness and coldness in a large part of that 
class of society, let us not forget what some have done 
and others are doing. Call the other kind the rule, 
but do not become wilfully blind to the exceptions. 

“Then it has also been said several times that the 
Church is absolutely indifferent, and the working- 
men are outside of the Church because the churches 
are out of touch with them and do not care. It has 
just been said that one minister in the city ventured 
to show a shadow of interest in us last Sunday, and 
advertised our cause as his subject, but proved a 
traitor to us even then, and surrendered himself and 
the cause up completely to the good graces of the 
rich.” 

It was as still as death, and every man was looking 


8o A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 

directly at the speaker, and most of them were not 
touching the backs of their chairs. 

He paused, and then said: “I was there, and 
heard every word of it. He did not say just what I 
would have said, or what I wish he had said, but I 
am convinced that he was honest and true to his con- 
victions, and more, I am sure, he is our friend. He 
stood up boldly, and said, without any reserve or 
hesitation, that Christ would join a labor union, and 
he pleaded for justice and liberty and salvation ; 
justice for the toiler, liberty for society, and salvation 
for the man. He said that was the creed of the 
union to which Christ would belong. He was not 
unfair to either side, but a kingly man in his place. 
I know we misunderstand some of the churches and 
some of the ministers. They are not all alike in this 
respect any more than others, but they are coming 
toward us. 

“Gentlemen, as we love our cause, let us go toward 
them. Go half way. Be fair. The Church and the 
preacher may yet be our champions and our best 
friends. Anyway, here stands one man who will 
never condemn again until I know. I will be true 
if I die in this or any other cause, God help me.” 

There was not a sound of applause. Sometimes 
the impression is too great to admit an audible ap- 
proval. It almost touches the sacred. Often the ut- 


A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 8i 

terance of the soul closes in an environment of sol- 
emnity. 

Who would dare say that Henry Fielding was not 
inspired. 

What is present day inspiration? 

Why not his great honest soul as well as that of a 
Phillips, or a Henry, or a Webster, or a Clay? 

No one attempted to speak for a complete sixty 
seconds. 

Then the chairman of the meeting looked from 
one side of the room to the other, and said : 

'T, for one, would be in favor of having that kind 
of minister come and speak to us right here. I don’t 
see anything out of the way about that. Why not? 
I don’t know to whom reference has been made, but 
I do not care who he is. I would like to hear him 
on that same subject.” 

Henry rose again, and said : 

''Do not misunderstand me. I am just as much 
of a fighter as any man of you, and am with you to 
the last chapter of our struggle. I am anxious that 
we take the right method always. A slight mistake 
may lead us a long distance out of the way. If the 
Church and the ministers are the greatest moral and 
spiritual factors in society, why not get in right 
relation with them — at least, one of mutual under- 
standing? Misrepresentation may be our ruin. Per- 
haps we have said so many times, 'they do not want 


82 A Stormy Night in Union No. lo. 


VLB* that we have come to believe it, and are believing 
a falsehood. 

would like to make a motion that Rev. David 
Dowling, to whom we have referred, be invited to 
come to the next meeting, and address us.^' 

Some one seconded the motion, and it was put to 
vote and carried by about two-thirds voting for it. 

The meeting very quickly came to an end, and 
most of them did not know what to think. 

Henry Fielding had thrown a shell into the very 
centre of things, and it had burst with tremendous 
effect. 


CHAPTER V. 


IN DAVID DOWUNG^S STUDY. 

Mr. Dowling reached home about ten o’clock that 
evening. He threw off his overcoat and hat and 
walked directly through the hallway into his study, 
which was at the rear of the house. 

He sat down in his accustomed place, but not to 
make sermons. 

His eyes dropped to the floor, and his arm rested 
nervously on the arm of his chair. In a moment or 
two, he walked across the room and threw himself 
upon the lounge. That was not rest. Position is 
not rest. It asks for something more than a lounge. 
The downy couch of the king’s palace is not named 
^Vest.” 

There was a great burden upon him, an irresistible 
pressure. In that condition, a man might as well 
stand up as lie down — perhaps better. 

His wife called to him from the head of the stairs, 
and when he answered, she said: 

“I just wanted to know if you were in. I thought 
I heard you. Where are you?” 

“In the study,” he answered, “come down here.” 

When she entered he did not even turn his head 


84 In David Dowling’s Study. 

toward her, and as she had before, ten thousand 
times, she asked : 

"'What is it troubling you? Oh, don’t worry, I 
am sure you can’t bear the whole burden of the 
world. Just throw it off now, whatever it is, and go 
right to your room and to sleep. But tell me, what 
were you thinking about?” 

""Etta,” said he, "you know me better than any- 
body else, and you know that I have conscientiously 
tried to do my work in the best way in order to 
reach men for Christ, and yet I am not satisfied; 
far from it, and further than ever to-night. If some- 
body will only show me a better way, I will do it. 
I will give up anything. I will sacrifice every plan. 
I will do twice as much work, if possible, if only 
a better result can be attained.” 

"‘Well, David,” said Mrs. Dowling, "‘if you do 
twice as much, you will have to have longer days 
and a shorter life. You work now fifteen hours a 
day, and seven days in the week, and that is a grave 
digger’s shovel, and you begin to look like a ghost.” 

‘‘But, maybe,” said he, ‘‘I am not doing it in the 
right way. Perhaps the Church is off the track. 
Any way the results are not much, and they seem 
to get less each year.” 

"‘What brings this upon you with such force to- 
night ?” asked she. 

"‘It is not a sudden thing with me ; only some new 


In David Dowling^s Study. 85 

developments in it. I want to reach this great mass 
of workingmen, and men outside of the Church. 
The lodges and the clubs are crowded and increas- 
ing in number every hour. The labor unions have 
large and enthusiastic meetings, but the men are not 
in the churches, and many of them are more than 
indifferent. They are against us.’^ 

He then told her about his call on Elsie Fielding, 
and her sorrow about her brother, and his feelings 
concerning the Church, and also of another woman 
whom he had seen that evening, whose husband was 
never at church, and who even took the children to 
the park on Sunday and away from Sunday school. 

“Oh, David, you are looking on the dark side; 
you are tired, and it will not be foggy when the sun 
comes up. Go ahead and do the best you can, and 
let God take care of the result.” 

“That’s not it,” continued he. “This is a grow- 
ing conviction. It is one of the most vital ques- 
tions of the day for the Church and society both. 
What is wrong? If I only knew. There is one man 
in the world who would do what Christ ordered him 
to do, even if he carried another cross up Calvary. 
You know you had the door bell fixed Saturday. 
When I came downstairs the electrician had the 
outside wires and buttons off, and had changed the 
batteries in the cellar and been working at the whole 
of the machinery for a couple of hours, but could not 


86 In David Dowling’s Study. 

find out what the trouble was. He told me his 
dilemma, and I said to him that he was the electri- 
cian, but I was the sermon maker. He must take 
care of his end of it, and I would take care of mine. 
He went at it again, and called me afterward to tell 
me in partial anger and partial delight that just 
where the wires were attached to the bell, the point 
of contact was missing, almost like a hair for dis- 
tance apart, and yet there could be no sound with- 
out it. In a few seconds he brought them together, 
and the bell rings now. I wonder if that is not just 
the trouble with the Church. The machinery is all 
right. The batteries of theology are all right. It 
is the point of contact, Etta ; that is the trouble. We 
are out of touch. Jesus touched the leper and the 
blind, and all classes of men. That is the very genius 
of Christianity, and we have lost it. The only way 
to make music in this world of discord is to furnish 
the point of contact by divinest sympathy and Christ- 
touch of love. I believe that is the whole fault. 
This mission business and all that which only gives 
a hungry man food, or a beggar money, is not 
enough either. That is only the means or opportun- 
ity. Money given to men, if that is all, makes them 
curse the giver and pass by the Church. It is only 
the heart contact with the money. We are never go- 
ing to reach the workingmen and save them by our 
present cold and formal methods. I must come 


In David Dowling’s Study. 87 

down off my high pulpit to get hold of their cal- 
loused hands, and let them see my large heart almost 
bursting through my vest.” 

Mrs. Dowling interrupted to say : 

'‘You are the most consecrated man in the world, 
anyway, and I don’t know how you can be any 
better.” 

“So you say, Etta, but I have to show that to 
these men who don’t know me or understand me. 
We must not talk longer to-night, but this is my 
determination, and I will not yield if I die. It is the 
result of months of experience and thought and 
prayer. At all hazards, I am going to let the work- 
ingmen of this city know that I am in sympathy with 
their cause, and will do all in my power to help them. 
I will not preach it all of the time, but I will live it all 
of the time, and preach it fearlessly when the hour 
demands it. I can live on half of my salary, but I 
cannot live on duty neglected or feared. I am going 
to get hold of these men and show them that Christ 
would join a labor union. I have taken his name 
as mine. Then I must be a Christ to them. It may 
take time, but I will help in the revolution. There is 
one man I am going to touch anyway. I have prom- 
ised it, and I will begin with him. I could tell when 
I saw him to-night that I had seen some of the best 
material in the human family made up in him. I 


88 


In David Dowling’s Study. 


want you to help me pray for him. Christ took one 
at a time. This is my Nicodemus.’^ 

She knelt at his side, and the study walls never 
echoed a more earnest prayer than the one David 
Dowling breathed out to God that night. 

There was something else to take place in that 
study before Saturday night. 

Henry Fielding had been appointed a committee 
of one to carry the invitation to the minister to speak 
at the next union meeting, and while Mr. Dowling 
was now in his study, Henry was at home at the same 
hour, and remaining sleepless for a long time. 

He marveled at himself. He wondered about the 
speech he had made and the criticism he had aroused. 
He said over and over again : ^T know they have and 
will misunderstand me, but I am going to be true at 
any cost, and I will prove to them that I am their best 
friend yet. Some of them carried a sneer at my sen- 
timents and opposed the motion about the minister, 
and I heard remarks afterward — yes, I suppose there 
were many I did not hear. Anyway, I will stand by 
it whatever it costs.’' 

He tossed from one side to the other and tried to 
use will power to keep his eyes closed, but they saw 
more than they ever saw when open and in the 
brightest light. 

“Even Richard,” thought he, “did not give much 
encouragement. He voted for it, but that was about 


In David Dowling^s Study. 89 

all. I suppose the fellow did not know what to make 
of it, or what to do. He will be all right and stand 
by, I know ; but what days these have been, not great 
outward changes, but there is a marked difference 
in me somehow.” 

It does not take long to change an honest man’s 
mind. He is even more ready to move his position 
than a knave. There was more than one new element 
in the life of Henry Fielding. The new truth had 
captured him, he was its slave. That is the largest 
freedom in the world. 

But another throne was rising up before him, and 
upon it was a queen of truest royalty. 

He had suddenly met his ideal womanhood. 

Was it only a dream, or was there some reality 
in it? 

His mother and sister were dearest to him of any- 
body in the world, and he had never cared for another, 
only the boy’s devotion to a school-girl ; but that had 
vanished like the spring rose in the heat of summer 
and the cold of winter. 

Yet the root, and life, and nature were there wait- 
ing to blossom again after the storms. 

'What a fool I am,” thought he, and almost said 
it aloud that night at twelve o’clock. "She is a mill- 
ion miles away from me, and I am kept awake by 
the lack of brains. The white matter is loose in my 
cranium, and cannot rest because of too much room 


90 In David Dowling’s Study. 

to float about. Here goes for sleep and some com- 
mon sense,” as he took a new turn on the couch. 

But some giants and armies are more easily con- 
quered than thoughts and dreams. They fall only 
to rise again and renew the battle, even if it takes all 
night. 

Henry had only seen Grace Chalmers for a few 
moments, but something more than a rich girl with 
attractive ways had crossed his path. 

There is something about these sudden meetings 
of life that we cannot plan, and whose power we can- 
not measure. It was more to him than if an angel 
had stopped him on his way and revealed some- 
thing strange and startling to him. He could not 
explain it, and would not dare tell it, but can any 
one think less of him who knows the human heart 
and the wonders of life and love? Yes, they are one 
and the same. Life is love, and love is life. Each 
four letters, and they begin and end the same. 

These new thoughts and conquering fears in his 
heart give greater admiration for Henry Fielding. 

Emerson says : “All the world loves a lover.” 

There is a great void in any young man’s life who 
has never experienced the hours through which he 
was now passing. 

Just before he entered into a restless sleep, he 
received comfort from calling himself insane to think 
of her. “And still,” said he, “she was mighty attrac- 


91 


In David Dowling^s Study. 

tive in her way, and treated me as her equal. It is 
her own fault if a fellow, with only a workingman’s 
wages, and a sister to support, thinks of it. She did 
it. Why did she not toss her head, and almost refuse 
to speak, as I thought every girl of her kind would ?” 

He passed into a surface sleep, and if Elsie had 
been awake in the next room she might have heard 
him say aloud in a partial dream : 

“Anyway, I would like to see her again.” 

The week passed on uneventfully, but in the secret 
silence of his own soul he carried the most sacred 
thoughts of his life. This is the holy of holies of the 
human heart, and not even a mother or sister can 
enter the sanctuary. It is the inner temple, and the 
holiest visitor is the first and purest thought of love. 

Offend anything else under heaven, or even in it, 
before offense is given to that, because God is Love, 
and the devotion of human hei.rts ought to be a part 
of the Divine. 

Saturday evening came, and found him not ready 
for his errand, but it must be done. He was in it, 
and was man enough not to back out. 

The call upon the minister had to be made, and 
the invitation given. 

Immediately after supper, and after a wandering 
of conversation, because his mind was upon the 
errand, and what he was to say, Henry started out, 
only to hear Elsie say : 


92 


In David Dowling’s Study. 


“I am glad you have to go. I know you will like 
him better. I never had a pleasanter call than the 
one he made here.” 

David Dowling had just said to his wife: 

“I am to stay home for once to-night, I hope no 
one will ring that perpetual-motion bell. I almost 
wish the electrician had not found his point of con- 
tact.” 

He turned from the hall into his study, to pick up a 
new book which had been waiting for this evening, 
or some other, when the music of the bell was heard. 

It was discord to him, and almost made him feel 
unministerial and unchristian. It was only moment- 
ary though, and the usual cordial manner and smile 
came home, and they told him a young man wanted 
to see him a moment. 

He called out: 

“Have him come right in here.” 

When Henry walked toward the study, Mr. Dow- 
ling came to the door to greet him. He said : 

“Why, I am surprised to see you, but I am de- 
lighted,” and he was. 

The other spirit was human ; this was the Christ 
and the better nature, and the most of it was in him. 

“I would not have ventured to call,” said Henry, 
“and I now dislike to disturb you, but I have a mes- 
sage for you, and will detain you only a moment.” 


93 


In David Dowling’s Study. 

“You are welcome as long as you can remain. I 
will not let you go right away,” replied Mr. Dowling. 

“Thank you,” said Henry, “but I came from one 
of the labor unions, Union No. lo, to which I belong, 
and the men want you to attend our next meeting 
and speak for us.” 

A new color came into the minister’s face, and a 
puzzled expression gathered. In a moment of sur- 
prise, he hardly knew what to say. Then he asked : 

“What night is it to be?” 

It was only a question to take time and give him 
opportunity to think. He asked where it was, and 
if this was an innovation, etc., only for the same 
reason, and then said : 

“I would like to do anything I can for your cause 
in as far as it is right, and I will do this if it will help 
in any way.” 

Henry replied emphatically that it would, and said 
he had been the instigator of it. 

“The men,” he went on, “are out of touch with the 
Church, and I believe they are out of relation with 
that force in society which can and ought to help 
them most. Understand me. I am not, and I don’t 
believe most of them are far away from the Church. 
They are only waiting for the opportunity to come to 
show their true spirit.” 

“Is it true,” said Mr. Dowling, “that they sneer 
at the Church and applaud the name of Christ?” 


94 


In David Dowling’s Study. 


“No/’ said Henry, “I have not heard that, and 
if that is done it is the exception, not the rule. They 
simply stand one side and carelessly stay away from 
the Church. They claim that the preacher is out of 
sympathy with them, and does not care about their 
burdens, and I will have to confess to that as my own 
fault for a long time.” 

Henry blushed a trifle as he looked toward the 
floor and said : 

“I used to go to church and to Sunday school up 
in the country. I never joined the Church, but some- 
times thought I was a Christian. When I reached 
here and entered into this great whirlpool of human- 
ity, struggling against wrongs and for rights, dying 
in the almost useless effort, I became cold and indif- 
ferent to everything which went by the name of reli- 
gion. It didn’t seem to me there was much in it.” 

Mr. Dowling interrupted to say : 

“Tell me all about it. I ?m interested and even 
anxious to find out my own fault in the matter.” 

“Well,” said Henry, “I have told you about all. I 
confess to fault on my part, but I tell you there 
are many things that ought to be made right, and 
the Church ought to do its part at least, to bring 
Christ into the everyday life and business of the 
world. There is not much chance for a man in these 
days. The odds are so great. I had bright dreams 
when I came down here, and have done my best. 


96 


In David Dowling’s Study. 

but wages half the time have been cut down, and 
sometimes we have been out on a strike, and then I 
have a sister to care for. There has been almost 
enough in all this to keep me away from the Church; 
yes, I might as well say, ‘Away from God.’ If I 
am honest, as I must be, I am quite sure ‘away from, 
church,’ means in most cases, ‘away from God.’ 

“Do you feel just the same now, Mr. Fielding, as 
you always did?” asked Mr. Dowling. 

“Well, I can’t say that I do. There has been no 
outside change in my life, and yet I am coming to 
look at some things differently. At least, I am 
realizing my own fault more, and seeing the Church, 
yes, seeing you in a little better light. That sermon 
last Sunday morning has done something for me, I 
am sure, and that is what makes me want you to give 
something of the same kind to the other men. I be- 
lieve they will receive it and get great profit from it.” 

“Just what do you want me to talk about?” 

“Oh,” said Henry, “I leave that to you. You 
know best ; only show them that the Church and the 
ministry are in sympathy and will help in any way 
possible — at least that they will be just to both sides 
and all men. They believe that you bow and bend 
to the rich, even at the sacrifice of truth.” 

“I will be there,” said David Dowling, as he 
struck the study table with his hand, “and I will have 


g6 In David Dowling^s Study. 

them know that that is not true. If it has been, by 
God’s grace, it never will be again.” 

“Thank you,” said Henry, ‘T am glad to carry that 
report, and must go now.” 

“Don’t hurry, I want to hear a little more about 
yourself. I wish I could do something for you. I 
have been thinking about you all week, and praying 
for you. I believe God sent you here to-night. I 
wanted this evening alone, but I would a million 
times rather have you here, and that is honest.” 

Henry had risen to go, but almost unconsciously 
settled hsick in his chair again. 

“If you and I could understand each other, that 
would be a splendid beginning,” continued Mr. 
Dowling. “A mustard seed with magnificent possi- 
bilities in it. I do not want to go to your union, 
unless I feel that I have one friend and helper in the 
cause.” 

“Oh, you can count on me for that,” said Henry. 

“But I mean more than you think. What a won- 
derful thing it would be if you were a Christian man 
yourself, and carried the influence of Christ into the 
organization, and did your part, which would be a 
great part, in swinging the Church around toward 
the workingmen. They never can be reached in any 
other way than by some manly fellows, like your- 
self, being the leaven in their society. I come, and 
no matter how warm my heart is, they say it is cold. 


97 


In David Dowling’s Study. 

and I am only a religious professional. Here is the 
combination that will do it. Some of their own kind 
and the preacher with them. Oh, how God would 
move this part of the world if only some of you men 
and the ministry were banded together. I, for one, 
promise to go to the very end of duty’s path. I do 
not care where it leads me. I have not been just 
right either. Love and sympathy and interest must 
play a greater part in my life than sermons in the 
future.” 

“I do not know just what you mean,” said Henry, 
“but I will do my part.^’ 

“Be careful how you say that, Mr. Fielding. Can- 
not I call you Henry. Your sister told me the name.” 

“I would rather have you address me that way,” 
said Henry. 

“All right,” replied Mr. Dowling. “Now I will 
go on. Be careful how you say that : ‘Your part’ — 
‘your part.’ No man can dO' anything for others, 
who is not first right with God himself. That is the 
Divine law. Any one who neglects a personal duty, 
cannot influence others for the right. Any man 
who has lost himself cannot point out the way to 
others. Love for God precedes love for man. No, 
not just that. They are one and the same. You 
have said here to-night, Henry, that you are not 
right with God. You have been away from the 


98 In David Dowling’s Study. 

Church for years. You have been even on the verge 
of infidelity.'' 

"‘No, I cannot say that last," said Henry. I will 
not own to that. I always believed " 

'‘Hold on a minute," said Mr. Dowling. “Infi- 
delity has as much to do with the heart and life as 
with the head. You might say there was a God, and 
yet be an infidel to Him, having no fidelity to Him 
or His cause, disloyal and untrue to Him, and to the 
best that is in you. Anyway, Henry, you would not 
say that you were a Christian, and that is what I 
want you to be — saved by Christ's blood, and that 
alone, and then you could be able to help the labor- 
ing men in Christ’s way — not simply to live a moral 
life, but just surrender to the Saviour, and help Him 
make the Church what it ought to be. He, through 
you, will save society, and that is the only way it ever 
will be saved. It will take time, but His spirit is 
destined to conquer. He needs you." 

“I have never looked at it just like that,” said 
Henry. “I have thought I was as good as church 
folks, and as good as I could be under the working- 
man’s circumstances, and that was all that was neces- 
sary.” 

“Oh, no, Henry, every line in the Bible is contrary 
to that. If you could save yourself. For what 
did Christ come to the world and die? His blood 
was necessary to your pardon and your trust in 


99 


In David Dowling’s Study. 

Him and surrender to Him and confession of 
Him. Make it yours now and forever. That is 
the meaning of being born again, and the Church 
is His agent upon earth to bring this to the hearts 
and lives of men. Put your immortal soul and 
earthly life in Christ’s hands, Henry, and you will 
be a new man. Oh, what a mighty influence you 
can wield in Union No. lo. A thousand times more 
than I can. I have even wished that I was a working- 
man, and could belong to the union in order to touch 
and reach other men.” 

Henry leaned with both elbows on the arms of his 
chair, and looked intently upon the floor, as if he was 
counting every thread in the carpet. He was in the 
deepest thought of his life, but he really wanted to 
go, and almost wished he had not come. He did 
not expect quite as much as this. 

Mr. Dowling, with more feeling in his voice, con- 
tinued to tell him that it was not following the ex- 
ample of Christ in order to be saved or help men 
most. ‘Tt was the atonement for sin that was the 
saving power in the world, and the only power.” He 
pleaded with him to look at it right and to act ac- 
cording to his best convictions at any cost. He told 
him not to be anxious, simply to touch the surface 
of the trouble in his own life or in the labor union. 

'‘You need Christ,” he said, “and so does your 
union — the Carpenter of Nazareth, but also the 


. I nFO 


loo In David Dowling’s Study. 

Saviour of Calvary. Now, Henry, will you do your 
part?” he said, after a moment’s pause. 

Henry hesitated, and then replied: 

‘‘I cannot promise anything to-night. I thank you 
for the interest, and really think more of you for 
talking this way, but I am not ready to say just now.” 

“I wish you would,” said Mr. Dowling, anxiously. 
“We may never have the chance to talk again.” 

“I hope we will,” replied Henry. 

“So do I,” said Mr. Dowling; “but in this world 
you cannot tell. You will promise me to think about 
it. Yes, more — to pray about it.” 

Henry would rather have been out on the street 
just then, but he said in a manly way, and meant it, 
too: 

“I will.” 

“Take my hand on that,” said Mr. Dowling. “We 
are friends; your name will be in my prayer every 
day.” 

Henry Fielding passed out into the dark — no, it 
was the dawn. It is darkest just before the dawn. 


CHAPTER VI. 


TElyEGRAM FROM HOME. 

The next Wednesday morning, according to ap- 
pointment in the Sunday school the Sunday previous, 
Grace Chalmers was to call on Elsie to talk with her 
about a committee in the church, on which they 
wanted her to work — a committee in the Young 
Women’s Organization. 

Elsie was not anxious to have her come, but her 
apartment never looked so attractive and spotless as 
it did that evening. 

She was alone, and waited patiently, supposing that 
Grace would come early, but it was now after eight 
o’clock, when she heard her step in the hallway. 

She had already told her of the stairs, and their 
home, so different from hers, and* that changed the 
situation by creating no surprise and calling for no 
apology. 

Grace Chalmers always carried the same charm 
with her, and adapted herself to every condition with 
an art passing the work of painter or musician. 

The greatest artist in the world may never have 
known a more skillful touch upon canvas or keyboard. 

No one was better named than Grace Chalmers. 


102 The Telegram from Home. 

They must have had the prophet's vision when they 
called her Grace. 

It does not seem possible that the same spirit would 
be equally as beautiful and attractive in the palace 
of the rich and the single room of the poor; but it 
was and is always. 

Elsie’s room was midway between poverty and 
riches, and it was no exception to the law of the 
world. 

She entered now, as always, with a delightful 
familiarity which effectively destroyed formality. It 
was not condescension, but recognition of the real 
worth of the world as being that of character. She 
considered Elsie as her equal, and the mere surface 
circumstances of money or home was not able to de- 
stroy that divine equality in human society. 

This is the only aristocracy. This is the only 
Christianity. This is the only solution of the social 
problem. 

Grace Chalmers carried the key to the secret. 

"‘What!” said she; “are you all alone? I rather 
expected to see your brother here, too.” 

“He is usually with me,” replied Elsie ; “but he is 
away more lately because he is so interested in these 
labor questions, and especially now because of the 
great strike in the city, and they are expecting trouble 
in their own manufactory. I believe they call it a 
‘lock-out,’ but I don’t know as I understand what 


The Telegram from Home. 103 

that means. Anyway, we won’t talk about that to- 
night.” 

“Why, yes, we will,” said Grace, “because I am 
interested in it, and more since Mr. Dowling preached 
that sermon, and we have had so much talk about it. 
You know I told you father did not agree with the 
sermon, but that is not strange, and whether his con- 
science has been troubling him or not, he has brought 
it up for discussion a half-dozen times since. I have 
argued with him about the minister having the right 
and duty to preach about it, and he told me this morn- 
ing that I and the pastor had both better find out 
where our bread and butter came from. Perhaps I 
might better keep still and leave him to do all the 
talking, but I cannot help standing by the people 
who have the least, if they are at all in the right. 
I am really glad your brother is interested in the 
solution of these important questions, and I hope the 
men will receive vhat belongs to them. I would 
rather have my father do just right by the working- 
man and give me only half of what he now does, 
than not show the spirit of Jesus every hour and 
minute of the day. I have been in the homes of 
these men enough to know just how they feel about 
the rich Christians and the churches.” 

Elsie interrupted to say: 

“I did not intend to start our conversation in this 


104 Telegram from Home. 


channel. You came for something else, and we girls 
do not know much about the labor question.’' 

know this,” said Grace, “that that is the great 
barrier between the working people and the Church. 
I hear it wherever I go among them. If they had 
better pay, and some of them less hours of work, 
and could wear good clothes, and always have their 
Sundays, they would come to church. Anyway, 
many of them who don’t now would, I know. Of 
course, some of that class of people are not honest 
in saying that, but many of them are. If I get a 
chance, I am going to ask your brother to do his 
best to right every wrong, and in some way help to 
get all these thousands in touch with the churches. 
My mission work does not amount to much as it is 
now. All my giving and service is but a drop in 
the large ocean of need. There is a great Christian 
principle which needs to be thrust into the heart of 
this trouble.” 

“That is what he says,” replied Elsie, “and that is 
what they are all saying, I know; but what about 
that work you want me to do in the Church. I have 
been wondering what it is. You did not tell me, 
only made me inquisitive.” 

“Well, you know we have a Young Women’s Or- 
ganization. It is something like the King’s Daugh- 
ters, but does not go by that name. We have various 
committees, and each with their own specific work; 


The Telegram from Home. 105 

some to help in the Church, and others to come in 
touch with the work in the city, and to help the poor. 
I am chairman of the Missionary Committee, and 
we have confined it almost entirely to helping the 
needy right here in the city. I want you to be on 
my committee, and we can accomplish more together 
in this work, I know.” 

“I am willing to do anything I can,” said Elsie; 
“but you want to be sure that I am the right one.” 

“I am sure of that already,” said Grace, “and I 
have talked it over with Mr. Dowling, and he said 
you are just the one.” 

“I do not know as I understand what I am to do.” 

“Why, I do visiting and come in touch with these 
people. I find out their real need, and then help 
them, or have the society help them. But what they 
need most is what they get last, and that is some- 
body’s love and sympathy. Christ did not have any 
money to give to men, but he just touched them and 
really loved them out of their sin, and made them 
able to help themselves.” 

“Well,” said Elsie, “you show me how, and I will 
try.” 

“What is that?” asked Grace. “It sounds like 
rain, and I thought I heard it thunder, too.” 

“It is raining, I guess,” replied Elsie, going to the 
window at the same time and raising the curtain to 
look out. 


io6 The Telegram from Home. 

As she did so, there was a faint flash of lightning. 

“It must be only a shower,” she said. 

“Yes,” said Grace, “because it did not look much 
like rain when I came out, and I even hesitated about 
bringing my umbrella.” 

“You wait, and it will soon pass over, and Henry 
will be in presently to see you home all right if it 
does keep on.” 

“Oh, no, I will not wait for the rain or an escort 
either. I am used to going alone, and it is early 
and not far, and the streets are all light.” 

She had scarcely finished the last sentence when 
Elsie turned toward the door and listened a moment. 

“Oh, yes, it is his step ; I know it way at the foot 
of the stairs. He must have hurried, too, on account 
of the storm.” 

Grace did not speak for a moment. She was think- 
ing what she would do' now. 

Henry was at the door before the decision was 
made, but she arose just as he entered, and said she 
must go, as she turned to speak to him. 

He appeared surprised for a moment, but it was 
only on the surface, and if the truth was plainly told, 
it was not the rain which had driven him home early. 
He was quite willing to be there before Elsie's caller 
had gone. He said she need not go just because he 
came. If they had not finished their conversation, 


The Telegram from Home. 107 

he would agree not to listen, or interrupt, or he 
would go in the other room. 

“Oh, no,” answered Grace ; “it is all over, and you 
will never know what it was. It is a secret, and 
very important, too. Isn’t it. Miss Fielding?” 

Elsie nodded her head, and added : 

“I will agree not to tell him, either.” 

Grace was buttoning her jacket and making prep- 
aration to go, but Henry was not making any prep- 
aration to stay. He was in a great quandary. So 
much so as not to be able to think of a thing to say. 

He wanted to go home with her, but did not know 
whether he even dared to ask her. “She would not 
want to be seen with him,” and a thousand like sug- 
gestions flashed through his mind, to make the mo- 
ments seconds, and his knees almost knock together. 

What should he do? Oh, if Elsie would only come 
to the rescue, and say, “Henry, you go home with 
Miss Chalmers!” “I would be a willing slave, and 
not say a word,” thought he. But Elsie seemingly 
could not understand, or else did not care. 

He tried to motion to her without being seen, but 
his deaf and dumb signs were unread, and some- 
thing had to be done, and done right away. 

Grace said that she had had a delightful call, and 
turned to Elsie to say good-night, and then toward 
Henry, but he interrupted. 

“You are not going alone this stormy night. You 


io8 The Telegram from Home. 

need not say good-night to me. You can do that at 
your father’s door.” 

She began by saying that it was not necessary for 
him to go, but ended nearer her heart than the first 
sentence, by adding that “he could have his way 
about it.” 

There are moments in life which have years in 
them, and are like the acorn as the forerunner of the 
mighty oak. 

Henry Fielding had never passed such a moment in 
feeling or in fortune. He could not explain it or 
even understand it. It was a puzzle to himself. 

No young woman had crossed his path before with 
more than a passing notice from him, but here was 
a rich girl meeting him by the merest chance and 
an impassable chasm between them. He never could 
bridge that, and in the silence he had said a score of 
times: “I am such a fool!” He had said also: “She 
would mock the thought of being seen in my com- 
pany,” but here they were passing out of his own 
house together. “By force,” he was saying to him- 
self. It was only like her father’s coachman taking 
her home in the storm. 

When they reached the street it was raining harder 
than ever. She drew her garments closely about her. 
And Henry could hardly believe it — ^he had almost 
unconsciously offered his arm. It was not courage, 
because that was not up to the necessary mark. It 


The Telegram from Home. 109 

was more excitement than anything else. And when 
she accepted, as she touched his sleeve, it was like 
an electric shock. Was it the lightning of the 
storm ? 

Anyway, Henry was struck. 

She said, as they hastened on : 

“This is so kind of you, Mr. Fielding, to come right 
out again in this dreadful storm for my sake. The 
next time I come I will do it in the starlight.’^ 

Henry suddenly replied : 

“I will pray, then, for a sudden shower. I am 
satisfied with this, if it was not for you getting wet.’’ 

In a few moments Grace had turned their con- 
versation toward the Church, and said : 

“I hope you are going to be a regular attendant 
now at our church. I know you will enjoy the ser- 
vices, and you cannot help but like Mr. Dowling.” 

“I do,” answered Henry; “I admire him very 
much. He is a minister to command respect, and 
I think he is on the right track now to reach the men. 
That sermon of his has occasioned a vast amount of 
discussion and healthy argument. I hope he will 
keep on in that way.” 

“So do I,” said she, with an emphatic tone. “It 
takes courage on his part, but everybody respects him 
more. If there are wrongs burdening the working- 
men, it is the Gospel which ought, and which only 
can, right them. The ministers ought to preach it. 


no The Telegram from Home. 


and the members of the Church ou2:ht to live it. 
That may sound strange from me, considering who 
I am, but I love Christ enough to be true to Him in 
everything, even sometimes against my people. My 
sympathy is always with those who have the least in 
this world, if they are not deep in sin and guilty of 
bringing their own sufferings upon themselves.’' 

'T am glad to hear you say that,” said Henry, ^'and 
it is just that spirit which I have seen lately, which 
has changed my ideas somewhat, and is changing my 
life. I am looking at the ministers differently, and 
at the Church people, too, with new and better 
thoughts. I have been thinking in these last days 
that perhaps I ought to bear at least half of the blame 
for my own absence from the church, and the other 
men are in the same position. They have misjudged 
and made sweeping condemnation concerning the 
Church and the rich, and justified themselves in al- 
most# every way.” 

“It is more likely true,” said Grace, “that both are 
in the wrong. Do you know what I think?” she con- 
tinued. 

“No,” answered he. “I want to know; tell me.” 

“Well, it is that you can do a wonderful thing in 
this world now for Christ and your fellow men, if 
you were a Christian, and went from the Church right 
among these men with the very spirit of Christ. That 
is the great need. I cannot do half what you can, 


The Telegram from Home. iii 


and I don’t really believe that Mr. Dowling can. 
They want to see Christ in the labor union, and you 
ought to be his representative, and show them how 
he would belong to the union, and what he would 
say and do.” 

Henry was almost stunned for an instant at her 
frankness and her familiarity in talking religion to 
him. He did not realize that it was her life, and that 
it was the intent of Christianity to live it and talk it 
everywhere. 

He stammered out in reply that he supposed that 
she was right. 

They were now at her home, and had almost for- 
gotten the rain and the distance. 

The parting was touched with something more than 
mere politeness, and Grace ventured to say, as he 
turned away, that he would be welcome any time in 
her home. 

As he walked away, he said half aloud : 

“Well, there is one exception at least. The world 
is not all cold and selfish. There is Christianity on 
earth, and it may be harder for a rich person to be 
in the Kingdom of Christ than the poor. I think that 
is what the Bible says.” 

The pressure of conviction was settling down upo6 
him with tremendous -weight, and Henry Fielding 
was not far from the Kingdom himself. 

The next morning about nine o’clock Elsie was 


1 12 The Telegram from Home. 


startled by a sharp ring of the bell. She hastened to 
open the door, to find some one farthest from her 
thought. 

A telegram was not an ordinary event in her life. 
This one was the first since she came to the city. 

She could hardly wait to sign the messenger’s book 
before she opened it, and when he disappeared she 
could scarcely muster the courage. ‘Tt must be 
something important. It is for Henry, but it cer- 
tainly is for me, too. Can anything be the matter 
at home?” And a countless number of thought- 
flashes crowded into her mind. 

In a moment she stood with the open message in 
her hand. 

This was not only the first telegram, but never be- 
fore had that expression taken posssesion of her face. 

It was the mingling of wonder and surprise and 
anxiety and grief. 

It read: “Come home at once. Your mother is 
very ill. Signed, Robert Matthews,” an uncle of 
theirs, who lived near their old home. 

Elsie stood with that yellow bit of paper in her 
hand as one transfixed, and read it and re-read it 
and wondered if it told all the truth, or if there was 
more to be said that the message could not carry. 

These are the hours when queenliness and charac- 
ter are tested. 

She had to cry. That was natural, and even 


The Telegram from Home. 113 

womanly, but Elsie Fielding was not the one to give 
loose rein to imagination or sorrow. Her second 
thoughts came quickly. 

Blessed be they and the heart which opens for their 
reception. 

''What must I do?’’ said she^ not "what must I 
feel?’^ 

In a moment she had thrown on her hat and her 
wrap, and was ready to go to the factory to tell 
Henry. 

Steps were rapid, but not light. 

He was summoned to the office on her arrival, and 
knew that something important had brought her, be- 
cause this was the first time she had called him from 
his work. 

She waited with the telegram in hand, but ready 
to pave the way by saying as he came toward her : 

"Henry, I am sorry I had to come, but this is not 
very good news. Yet probably it is not as we may 
think. This just came to the house,’’ and she passed 
it to him. 

But she could not wait to tell him, and perhaps 
make it easier. 

"It says mother is ill, and they want us to come.” 

While she was telling the story, he was reading it, 
and then stood holding it for a moment without say- 
ing a word. 

When Henry was tested he could not be hastened. 


114 Telegram from Home. 

and when his decision was made it was usually the 
best. 

hope she is not very seriously ill,” he said, with 
a sigh following it, and walked directly to the super- 
intendent’s desk. 

"‘Mr. Whitney,” he said, ^‘my sister has just 
brought this message to me, which says my mother 
in Vermont is very ill, and they want us to come 
immediately. I must go right away, and I know you 
will have no objections.” 

'‘Certainly,” said he, rather coldly. “This is a call 
which must be answered. I hope you will not find 
it as serious as it now seems,” and he had already 
turned away before the last sentence was finished. 

Their mother had not lost any of their love by their 
absence. Each week the home letter was on its way, 
and occasionally more than once a week some word 
or token of love was sent. 

They had received her letter only two days before 
this, and then she was apparently as well as usual. 

“What could be the matter?” was the oft-repeated 
and oftener thought question. 

Henry told Elsie to hurry home and get all ready 
and he would go to the depot or some ticket 
office and find out when the first and best train went. 

He discovered that it left at twelve o’clock, and 
gave them only about two hours to make preparation. 


The Telegram from Home, 115 

*^But we can do it/* said he, as he partially ran 
down the street and toward their home. 

No time was lost, and at five minutes before the 
hour they were on the train, and had scarcely taken 
time to think of the object of their journey. At least, 
not any time to talk about it. 

Now they had the afternoon, and it was crowded 
with wonder and increasing anxiety. 

They knew about their mother’s trial with their 
brother Will, and her deep sorrow over his life. 

He had grown wild and even dissipated. They 
feared she had not told them the darkest side of it. 

That was the real condition. She had not. 

Out of her love for them, her mother’s heart had 
encircled all of her own trouble, and she had lived 
on hope that her counsel and prayer would prevail, 
but each day had increased his appetite for strong 
drink, and almost each night of his life he came home 
intoxicated. 

She never gave him up, nor did she ever threaten. 

She only pleaded with him and prayed to God. 

Never a night had she rested until he was in his 
room, and then she would kneel at his bedside and 
pray for her boy that he might be saved. 

Sometimes he was too stupid to know that she 
was there— even though she held his hand, and her 
hot tears were falling upon it. 


ii6 The Telegram from Home. 

At other times it angered him, and he had even 
cursed her while she prayed. 

That had almost taken her life, but it never tri- 
umphed over her love and faith. 

Last night he had come home at midnight in sadder 
condition and meaner disposition than ever before. 

The light was in his room. The bed was open 
for him as usual. His mother was waiting. As 
sweetly as an angel, she spoke to him, but received 
no reply. 

He was intoxicated almost to insanity. It was 
temporary insanity. 

She kneeled at his side again and made her accus- 
tomed plea and prayer, which seemed to enrage him 
and make him almost a demon. 

He leaped from the bed upon which his drunken 
form had rolled, and struck her. She fell to the 
floor in unconsciousness. 

Instantly what he had done almost sobered him. 
He kneeled down and tried to lift her up, but she 
was the same as dead. 

He thought that she was dead. His efforts to re- 
vive her were of no avail. The passing moments 
of fright almost drove the effect of the alcohol away. 

The horror of an hour had passed by, and no 
change. 

"‘Oh, my God,’’ he cried, 'T am a murderer.” 


The Telegram from Home. 117 

Before the morning his decision had been made, 
and he had fled. 

Her brother by chance came to the farm-house in 
the morning, and made the awful discovery. The 
blood was upon her forehead, and just a faint sign 
of life remained. 

Imagination revealed the dark secret. 

Henry and Elsie thought most everything, but little 
had they thought of this. 

The Vermont hills, through which they passed late 
in the afternoon, were never so beautiful as then in 
their autumnal glory. 

It seemed as if a great avalanche of color had 
swept down the mountain sides, or like the resting 
place of countless rainbows. 

The trees were all ablaze with color, and the val- 
leys marked with richest farms and gardens. 

The golden sunset added to the wonder of nature, 
and the reflection of heaven upon earth, and yet these 
two travelers were blind to it all. 

We see through our hearts more than our eyes. 

Every man has his own world, and he carries it 
with him. 

To the joyful heart, snowflakes are jewels and 
grass blades are diamond sceptres, but to the sad 
they are both only common carpet, to be trodden 
upon, and even then to hurt the feet. 


ii8 The Telegram from Home. 


Their uncle was waiting for them at the depot. 

He had the hardest task of his life in hand. He 
was a farmer, but sensitive in nature. 

He was just the man to break the sad news. 

He did not rush right into the dark facts, but by 
a gradual approach and winding pathway, he re- 
vealed the true condition. 

Their anxiety tried to hasten him, but he knew the 
better way. 

When at last it dawned upon them that their 
mother was dead, Elsie had to give way, and her 
tender heart almost broke in grief. 

Henry’s sorrow was just as deep, and too bitter for 
him to weep or speak. 

Everything was stamped with sacred memories 
about that whole section of country, and each tree and 
stone of the old farm was written all over with unseen 
letters, but now the last remnant of attraction and 
interest, and even love for it all, had vanished. 

Henry Fielding said afterward that he almost hated 
the sight of these familiar and once loved things. 

The centre from which radiated all the charm was 
gone. 

There is not so much in external circumstances 
as we estimate. They receive their value from some- 
thing else. 

One of the first thoughts which flashed into 


The Telegram from Home. 119 

Henry’s mind was as usual : “Now, I must play the 
part of a man and a brother. This is harder for 
Elsie than for me. She is tender and weak and can- 
not bear what I can. I must get my arm around 
her and he did, both figuratively and literally. 

She sobbed out the bitterest tears of her life on his 
shoulder. 

Oh, what a kingship is that? The first thought 
of others. 

In the Providence of God, and in the laws of the 
world, that is the most triumphant method of bear- 
ing sorrow and enduring sufifering. 

Thought of others is Heaven’s remedy for self. 

He went alone to wipe away his great tears, and 
stayed with Elsie to comfort. 

They were more to each other than ever now. 

Another dream of Henry’s life had been blasted. 
His ambition for his mother, and his care of her had 
never come to realization, and in this awful tragedy 
she had left them, but there had entered into his 
life a new force recently, and he did not become 
embittered, but even told Elsie several times, “It 
must be for the best. Anyway, mother had better in 
heaven than he could ever have hoped to give her on 
earth, and he did not have prospects for anything for 
her just at present. She has a mansion now, and no 
mortgage on it^ either/’ 


120 The Telegram from Home. 

These were days which seemed months. So many 
changes, so much sorrow, and events beyond realiza- 
tion. 

As they entered the train to return, Henry said: 
“Elsie, I never want to come back again.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


A minister in the union. 

Ever since David Dowling had publicly asked the 
question: “WoJd Christ join a labor union?” the 
mail had brought to him half a dozen or more letters 
daily in reference to it. Most of them were from 
union men, thanking him for his interest and elo- 
quent sermon. Some of them were in the spirit of 
criticism, and a few even went so far as to denounce 
him for not having the spirit of a true radical. 

He walked into his study one eventful morning in 
his life with a number of sealed letters in one hand 
and an open one in the other. He paused at the 
table, and then moved toward the window, where he 
stood looking out, in deepest thought. 

Many questions were forcing their way into his 
honest heart. “Had he gone too far in this matter? 
Was it a part of his duty? Had he said just right 
in that one sermon, and in all other things he had 
uttered since ? What ought he to do now ?” etc. 

No one of these was receiving a very satisfactory 
answer, and in fact they came so fast that one 
crowded out the other. 

He held up the open letter and began to read it 


132 


A Minister in the Union. 


over again. It was from a union man, and appar- 
ently a thoughtful man and earnest soul. It read 
as follows: 

“Would Jesus be a trade unionist? Though no 
conditions are stated in the above query, they are 
nevertheless implied, and it is really, therefore, a 
hypothetical question. If present conditions are as- 
sumed to be the natural and permanent state of the 
world, then it seems evident to me that Jesus, as 
the champion of the poor and the oppressed, would 
advocate the formation of labor unions by working- 
men to wrest from their masters a larger share of 
the wealth which their own toil is producing; he 
would under such conditions be a trade unionist. 

“But we know that the continuance of present con- 
ditions is impossible. Such an assumption would be 
foolish. Jesus knew very well that change is the 
order of the universe. Whether we consider him as 
divine or human. He was more than a workman en- 
deavoring to earn an honest living for himself and 
family. He was a teacher of eternal truth, a prophet 
of a true order of human life, an evangel of justice 
and brotherhood among men, a revolutionist of 
transcendent genius and ability, who desired the over- 
throw of all wrong and the establishment of what 
He called the ‘Kingdom of God’ ‘on earth as it is 
in heaven.’ 

“Such being his ideal, it is as impossible to imagine 


A Minister in the Union, 


123 


Jesus as a trade unionist as it is to imagine a trade 
union in heaven. Were He among us to-day, 
He would view life from a standpoint too lofty; He 
would be undermining wrongs too deep; He would 
be destroying ideas too all-pervading, and inculcating 
a philosophy too broad and all-embracing in its hu- 
manity to have a place in a movement which has for 
its object the. elevation of any class, no matter how 
large or deserving that class might be. 

“Jesus was not and could not be the ^practical’ 
man who takes off his coat and attacks specific abuses 
with a club. His mission was the proclamation of 
eternal verities. He saw clearly that, so long as men 
are inspired by the desire to get the better of each 
other in any degree whatever, the coming of His 
‘kingdom’ is in that degree retarded. Now, then, 
could He have a part in a movement having for its 
object the supremacy of organized labor? 

“Any tool for the accomplishment of a specific pur- 
pose is the best until a better is devised; the trade 
union is the best tool known to large numbers of men, 
but it by no means follows that it is the best possible, 
nor that the objects now sought by these organiza- 
tions are the best, even for their members. Jesus, if 
He again walked among us, would certainly see far 
ahead of us, as He did nineteen centuries ago. He 
would certainly follow the same methods of estab- 
lishing justice among men that He saw were best 


124 


A Minister in the Union. 


then. These methods are far richer in possibilities 
than any adopted by the trade unions. Nothing can 
supply the lack of a desire for justice among men, 
and He would again seek to instill that desire into 
the hearts of men, keeping Himself above the petty 
squabbles which are the curse of the human life. 
It is probable, also, that for this very reason He would 
be received by men now in much the same way that 
He was received before, for mankind is not yet done 
with crucifying its Christs and enthroning its Caesars. 

“Can we imagine Jesus as ‘working under cover’ 
or countenancing it by others ? Can we think of him 
as refusing to allow a man to work because he did 
not belong to the union? Can we conceive of Him 
as aiding in the establishment of a boycott or in other 
ways seeking revenge for any injury, no matter how 
great ? Can we even think of Him as trying to com- 
pel a fellow-man to join a union? If we cannot 
imagine Him as doing these things, it is idle to imag- 
ine Him as a trade unionist. Instead, He would be 
foremost in the attacks on those fundamental wrongs 
which force the trade union into existence and com- 
pel it to assume a semi-military discipline over its 
members and over its enemies as well, whenever pos- 
sible. 

“Among the stands I can imagine Jesus as taking 
were He to come among us and preach again, would 
be that of uncompromising hostility to all forms of 


A Minister in the Union. 


125 


slavery. Whether this was the slavery of men to 
the owners of the earth and its resources, the owners 
of the rain that falls upon the just and the unjust, 
of the methods and processes of labor, the privilege 
of making and issuing money, the nation’s highways 
and means of transportation and of transmitting in- 
telligence, or of any other wrongful privilege con- 
ferred by law. I can only imagine Jesus as bending 
all energies to the complete overthrow of this slavery 
by preaching the truth that will make men free, with- 
out bowing his head in compromise with anything 
that conflicts therewith. 

^^esus would be a revolutionist of the most radical 
type, as He was before, standing for all the rights 
of man and against everything that violated them 
a hair’s breadth. He would again be accused of 
turning the world upside down, and perhaps would 
be executed. But He would not be a trade unionist 
as that term is defined and understood to-day.” 

It was a long letter, but not uninteresting to him, 
and occasioned many pauses as he read it. At last 
he sat down and bowed his head on the table, and by 
chance (no, our chance is God’s providence) his right 
hand rested upon the open Bible, and in his left hand 
he still held the letter. 

After a moment’s thinking, which was in reality 
prayer — what is prayer but the heart’s desire after 
God and His will? — he raised his eyes, and at the 


126 


A Minister in the Union. 


first glance he discovered that not only were his 
hands resting upon the sacred page, but that his index 
finger pointed directly to the line, “I have given you 
an example.” 

Almost unconsciously, he said: “Thank God for 
this light on my pathway. Christ died to save man, 
and He lived to show them how to work out that 
salvation. It is atonement and example eternally 
united, and ought to enter into my ministry, and into 
every workingman’s life. No man ought to do any- 
thing that Christ could not do, or belong to any or- 
ganization that Christ could not join. He not only 
gave the theory of life but the pattern also. He is 
the only example for a labor union man, as well as 
a minister. This is the great mistake about religion 
and about Christ — that he could not do and be what 
other men under existing conditions can be and are 
compelled to do and be. The very essence of Chris- 
tianity is that Jesus was a man as well as God, and 
His life in the carpenter shop was a part of His re- 
demptive work as fully as was His death on Cal- 
vary. His relation to the other carpenters of Naza- 
reth and their organization, to the fisherman of Gali- 
lee and their union, was one of active service in be- 
half of honest labor.” 

Mr. Dowling then glanced down at the letter again, 
and thought: “Here is the fallacy — they make 
Christ an unreal factor to-day. ‘He had the boldest 


A Minister in the Union. 


127 


hostility to all forms of slavery/ Of course he had, 
and the labor union has no right to exist if that is not 
its righteous mission, too. Their work is his, their 
interests are His, their liberty and justice and salva- 
tion are His.” 

David Dowling paused in his rapid thought, and 
said to himself: 

'‘Now, let me get this right ; is there any difference, 
except in degree, between Christ’s life and mine? 
Could I belong to a labor union ? Could any Chris- 
tian man? If so, why not then Christ himself? No 
reason in the world, or else there ought not to be a 
labor union. If some of the methods are wrong, 
Jesus would help make them right, and so will I, 
God help me. 

“They make my Christ unreal, and His life differ- 
ent from that of other men. God did not intend it to 
be so. That makes Christianity heathenism. Christ 
would do exactly what any other man before God 
has the right to do. Oh, to teach men this, and the 
divine purpose concerning individual life and society. 
I must be more of a Christ myself to my fellow- 
men. I have taken His name. I am His representa- 
tive to-day, and because the ministers stand such a 
distance from these men and their unions, they think 
that is what Christ would do, only to a greater degree. 
It is not true; it is not true! The workingmen are 
not all to blame. There is one preacher who will do 


128 


A Minister in the Union. 


better. If I have to learn a trade to get in the union 
and influence the men and show them Christ, I will 
do it. Perhaps a trade would be better for some of 
us than a theological seminary. We might reach 
men better if we handled a saw of steel tham the saw 
of some old commentary. 

“Paul was a tent maker. He touched men and 
saved them.’’ 

It was now time for David Dowling to make his 
Sunday sermon, but he was at more important busi- 
ness. In reality, he was making sermons by a new 
and better method. He was listening to conscience, 
studying men, thinking of Christ and His relation to 
the millions of workingmen. That was a sermon not 
to be written, but to be preached with sublimest elo- 
quence — the oratory and rhetoric and elocution and 
logic of a concentrated life. 

He was tearing the last rag of formalism and pro- 
fessionalism from his calling and just lifting up 
Christ, so that all the men should be drawn to Him. 

It was beginning right, because he was in Gethse- 
mane now with Jesus. He knew how some of his 
people felt, and what some of his best supporters 
had said, and the conflict raged. 

The tears rolled down his cheeks, and they were 
touched with crimson, too. 

“Oh, Lord Jesus,” said he, “help me to set my face 
to go steadfastly to my Jerusalem. May I not go to 


A Minister in the Union. 129 

extremes. May I not be deaf to duty’s call or blind 
to the beckoning of Thy pierced hand ? I will come. 
I will do all in my power to show men Thy sympa- 
thy and Thy willingness to belong to any union whose 
purpose is worthy and enters into the redemption of 
human society. Show me the path, and if it is only 
one step at a time I’ll take it.” 

If every member of the labor organizations could 
have been witnesses to that scene, and heard that holy 
prayer, and known the deeper desire in his soul, how 
differently they would look at the minister. Yes, 
even at the Saviour of men. 

This was the beginning of a new day in one min- 
ister’s life, and it found its closing in a new experi- 
ence, and a very bright one for Mr. Dowling. 

This was the night for his address in Union No. 10. 

He had tried so many times in the past days to de- 
cide upon what he should say on that occasion, and 
had torn up several abstracts and plans. 

All day the same battle was on, and no good speech 
had come into his possession when night reached him, 
but he was not nervous. 

There was a confidence in God which was his now, 
and always comes to the consecrated man. 

According to the agreement when the invitation 
was given, Henry and Richard called for him. 

There had been added another knot in the tie which 


130 


A Minister in the Union. 


bound Henry to him, not known by Mr. Dowling, 
but Henry was perfectly conscious of it. 

In the hour of sorrow he had pushed his great 
heart of sympathy against Henry’s heart, and left 
an impress upon it never to be obliterated. It was 
language intelligible and indelible. 

Elsie’s tender and saddened heart had also* known 
the power of love’s contact as never before, because 
both Mr. Dowling and Grace had been so helpful, and 
carried the needed comfort at the most trying time 
of her life. Flowers had been sent to her, but the 
flowers most fragrant and lasting were those which 
angel hands had picked in the garden for her — atten- 
tion, sympathy and sacrifice. 

Mr. Dowling was all ready, except his speech, when 
the young men arrived. He met them at the door, 
and said : 

“You might have thought I would not be ready 
and was not anxious to go, but you see I am.” 

He walked down the steps between the two, and 
for a moment took hold of their arms as a sign which 
every man understands. It was real friendship. 

Henry said : “I am sure you art not so glad to go 
as we are to have you. Isn’t that right, Dick?” 

“That’s so,” quickly answered Richard. 

“Yes,” said Henry, “this is the night that I have 
been most anxious to go to a union meeting of any 
time in my life. I believe there is great good in it.” 


A Minister in the Union. 13 1 

“I hope there will be,” replied Mr. Dowling. “I 
am sure if you men know how dead in earnest I am 
in the desire to change the present condition of both 
the workingmen in their relation to the employer, and 
also in relation to the Church, they would listen and 
stand by me, too.” 

“Here are two fellows who will,” said Richard. 

“Thank you,” said Mr. Dowling; “that makes me 
feel better and gives me security; a certain backing, 
and I will depend upon you.” 

“Well,” said Henry, “I am the one who wanted 
you there, and I propose to help you all I can. You 
just go ahead to-night and say what you think — 
something like the sermon would not hurt, and even 
more along that same line. I rather think they will 
expect it, but I will not make any suggestion. You 
probably have it all ready.” 

David Dowling hardly knew what to say now, be- 
cause he had several lines of thought in his mind, and 
was just trusting to Christ’s help to formulate them, 
and he replied : 

“No, I have not fixed it exactly, but, anyway, you 
may be sure that I will do what Christ desires, as near 
as I know it. I stand for him, you know, and this 
is one way at least for Christ to belong to a labor 
union.’ ” 

When they reached the door and entered, the meet- 
ing had just been opened. Some business was being 


132 A Minister in the Union. 

transacted. All eyes were turned upon David Dow- 
ling as he sat down near the door next to Henry. 
There was great expectancy. It was an innovation, 
and the interest in it had called out the largest meet- 
ing they had held for a long time — if not the largest 
ever seen in that union. 

Everything was quickly dispatched, so as to come 
to the address and the open meeting. 

If ever a man was controlled by a burning desire 
to do the right thing, David Dowling was that man 
now. He was saying to himself : “Anything for thee, 
my Christ. Help me to be true and fair, and show 
Thee in the right light.’’ 

When he arose to speak, there was a ripple of ap- 
plause, but not enthusiastic, because most of the men 
did not know what attitude to assume, and some of 
them had even voted against his coming. 

He walked to the front and said: 

“Gentlemen, I thank you for this honor, which I 
consider one of the greatest of my life, because of 
the importance of the occasion and because of the 
confidence you have manifested in me. I believe we 
are one in desire, and nearer to each other than you 
think. My work is different from yours, but I prom- 
ise you now that my purpose is the same — in helping 
the cause of justice and humanity. 

“We have been separated too long by misunder- 
standing, and the enemies of ns both have misrepre- 


A Minister in tlie Union. 


133 


sented us. I hope this event to-night will be the 
dawn of a new era in the relation of the Church 
to labor. 

“Your call to me came from my venturing to ask 
the question, which I consider a vital one to you as 
well as to myself : ‘Would Christ join a labor union ?’ 
I said ‘Yes’ then; I say, more emphatically, ‘Yes,’ 
now.” 

There was a shadow of excitement and a rustle of 
whispering as he continued: 

“If the union has a right to existence in human 
society, and I believe it has, Christ would belong to 
it, if he was a carpenter in this city as he was a car- 
penter in Nazareth. If he came to the world in 
human form to-day, the divine plan would not be 
changed. It was the plan of the eternities. 

“If He came to your city as his dwelling place. 
He would learn His trade, and join the union for 
protection, and for the ultimate redemption of all 
men. He would be one of your number to-night. 
Yes, He is, and would say, ‘Come unto Me all ye who 
labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ 

“His mission is not outside of the circle of labor. 
He began at the centre in the carpenter shop, and 
will not give up until His scarred hand touches every 
part of the circumference, and His power regenerates 
the whole. 

“Now, I did not come here to preach, I jnvite 


134 


A Minister in the Union. 


you all to come to my church to hear the sermon, 
and perhaps there will not be as much 'preach’ in that 
as you think there is, but I am here now to say some 
things to you which lie at the very core of my heart. 

"You would not want me to be hypocritical. I 
cannot be, if you do. I never spoke in my life with 
such conviction and such blood-earnest desire.” 

The men looked more intently at him, and some of 
them even nodded to each other. He had not only 
gained their attention, but he already had the respect 
and confidence of most of his auditors. 

He paused a moment, and then continued : 

"I propose to say something about myself first, and 
then something concerning you and your work. If 
you have misunderstood me and my methods, let me 
change that feeling, if I can. Do not be prejudiced. 
Listen and pass your own judgment. 

"I sat a few hours ago by the side of a young man 
— he is now dead. He was dying of consumption, 
and they sent for me. He was a member of one of 
the labor unions. He was perfectly conscious until 
his death, and died while I was there. What was my 
first business in his presence and the presence of 
death? Every man of you will answer at once, 'To 
do all in my power to make that poor fellow ready to 
meet God. To help him in the final preparation for 
the next world.’ 

"It would be folly and criminal to talk to him 


A Minister in the Union. 


135 


about this world, and trades, and work, and the 
wrongs of society. Eternity was just ahead of him, 
and was the only reality now. 

“That is only an incident which illustrates the char- 
acter of my whole life. I stand on the edge of the 
grave between immortal souls and their destiny. 

“My first business must necessarily be their salva- 
tion hereafter. You say I am too other-worldly. 
How can I be otherwise? Yes, how can any think- 
ing man put the next world secondary to this? If 
the preacher is ‘too other-worldly,^ most men are too 
much ‘this-worldly.’ 

“The fact is that you cannot separate the two 
worlds. The divine plan is to save men in this by 
saving them for the next. 

“If you thought that I ought to preach only con- 
cerning the questions of the hour and solve the social 
problems, you have mistaken Christ’s work on earth 
and made Calvary only a tragedy instead of the atone- 
ment for sin. 

“I have declared that Christ would belong to a 
labor union, and I will belong to yours, if you will 
have me, and help you all I can.” 

Henry and Richard started applause, but it did not 
reach a wave, only a ripple. 

Mr. Dowling continued : 

“But Christ would make His sacrifice for sin the 


136 A Minister in the Union. 

foundation of all salvation for society. He was not 
only an example. He was infinitely more. I am 
going to deal with social questions and your wrongs, 
but I must begin always at the Cross. If you think 
it otherwise, you have mistaken my sacred mission 
and the relation of salvation here to salvation here- 
after. Another thing I want you to know about me 
and my ministry. I do not fear any man on earth, 
arid I am not catering to any individual or any class. 
Your position is upon the outside, and many of you 
do not hear the sermons, and you cannot pass right 
judgment. At least, do not make wholesale condem- 
nations. Many ministers are sacrificing everything 
for truth’s sake, and have even given up pulpits and 
salaries and friends and all. They are ready to stand 
by you, if you will only stand by them. Here is one 
of them, anyway! My last drop of blood is yours, 
and out it goes in your cause for right. My church 
is open to you ; other churches are anxious for you. 
The best place is yours. If it is not, I will resign 
my pulpit to-morrow. I wish we could form some 
mutual understanding — some better relation. I wish 
you had honorary members, or some class to which 
I could belong. I stand for Christ, and I would like 
to be in your organization. I would like to have 
every one of you in the Church, and there are more 
workingmen in the Church than statistics represent 


A Minister in the Union. 137 

and pessimists believe. Most of you are right near 
its doors. 

“Now, let me ask a vital question about yourselves. 

“Suppose Christ was a member of this union. 
Would everything in it be just as it is to-night? 
Would not some of the plans be changed? Would 
not the Golden Rule be the motto? Would not the 
Sermon on the Mount enter into all your relations 
with other men? You could not have Christ in here 
without having His spirit and example. I am sure 
some speeches would not be made, and some hasty 
actions would not be taken. Our employers would be 
treated as we ask them to treat us, with fairness and 
justice and sympathy. I do not say there would not 
be a strike, but every possible means to prevent it 
would be first exhausted. We would recognize duty 
and obligation and fidelity, and the other side as well 
as our own. Bitterness, and anger, and malice, and 
envy, and vengeance would not enter into our discus- 
sion or our actions. 

“Also, if Christ would belong to your union, and 
help your cause, you ought to belong to His Church 
and help His cause, out of which the union and every 
other righteous institution grew. If the Church is 
not just as it should be, help Christ make it after 
His pattern. You cannot separate Christ and the 
Church. He said it was His body, and some wicked 
distinctions have been made by men, who said they 


138 A Minister in the Union. 


represented your cause, but misrepresented it. They 
have even said to me that there has been a hiss heard 
at the mention of the Church. How the heart of 
the Saviour must be grieved at that ! It is His insti- 
tution as the channel of salvation to the world. Help 
it; support it; do not stand outside of it. Do not 
claim it has purely a social function. Hear Christ 
say that you cannot save society without first saving 
the individual. ‘Ye must be born again,’ is the cry 
of the Church, and in that cry is the key-note of the 
regeneration of society and the salvation of the cause 
of labor. There is not too much philanthropy or too 
much reform in the world, and the Church is not too 
much interested in that. It is not enoueh interested 
in that, but it has a distinctively spiritual mission, and 
first things must be kept first, or less will be done 
than is now being accomplished. 

“One of the fallacies of this day is that all people 
need is a change of environment, and they will be 
good. The whole Gospel is against this, and teaches 
that the soul right with God first changes external 
conditions ; and, however much I might wish to do for 
any labor, or benevolent, or philanthropic organiza- 
tion, I must not compare them with the Church or 
neglect the first work of the Church for them. 

“Jesus died to save a man who was immortal and 
eternal. That means that He would do all He could 


A Minister in the Union. 139 

for that man’s welfare by association with your effort 
in the union or anywhere, and so will 1. 

“It is not a false position in which I place Christ, 
when I bring him into a labor union, or else I am 
wrong in being here now, and every man of you is 
out of his place. But I am simply trying to keep 
Christ’s death and life right before the world. Ask of 
me as His representative anything that I can do for 
your benefit, and I will do it. I promise you my 
best co-operation and my deepest sympathy. I wish 
I might shake hands with every one of you on that 
promise.” 

Just as he was about to sit down, Henry Fielding 
arose and said : 

“Here is one man who would like to shake hands 
with you, Mr. Dowling, and I wish you would stay 
where you are until we have all had the opportunity.” 

David Dowling looked confused, but Henry was in 
front of him in a moment, and then Richard, and fol- 
lowing them nearly every man in the room passed 
by him to grasp his hand. 

Then the chairman said : 

“I don’t see any reason why this union could not 
have honorary members, or some plan by which such 
a friend of ours and our cause as Rev. Dowling could 
be one of our number. I shall propose that change 
in our constitution at the next meeting.” 


140 


A Minister in the Union. 


The statement was greeted with the heartiest ap- 
plause, and one of the most important meetings ever 
held in a union came to its conclusion. 

Who can say that it was not an epoch-making time 
in the cause of the workingman. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


IN THK HOMES OE THE POOR. 

After the service on Sunday morning, almost every 
one had passed out of the church. There were a few 
scattered groups pf two and three still talking. 

Near the door stood Henry Fielding, waiting for 
his opportunity to speak to Mr. Dowling. 

In the other corner, Elsie and Grace were making 
some plans for their missionary work during the com- 
ing week. 

Henry had been spoken to and welcomed as usual 
by several of the congregation, but now he was alone. 
He did not feel strange in a church, nor was he in 
any special hurry to get away. 

As soon as Mr. Dowling was at liberty, Henry 
walked up in front of the pulpit where he stood, and 
received a hand grasp, which was only the sign of 
deepest affection. 

Immediately some one else was in their presence. 

Elsie and Grace had received a sudden impulse to 
ask Mr. Dowling and Henry to go with them the next 
evening, and visit some of the homes and see the 
needs in the poorest district of the city. 

The invitation was met with almost immediate ac- 


142 


In the Homes of the Poor. 


ceptance when the discovery was made that the even- 
ing was free from other engagements. 

David Dowling would not have been so willing a 
few weeks or months previous. 

A great change had come into his life, and now 
his heart carried a deep desire to help the poor and 
the oppressed and to serve his fellow-man, without 
regard to their station in life. 

The soul of every man had taken on new value for 
him, and the Gospel new meaning and power. He 
said : ‘T have been anxious to do just this. I want an 
introduction to this kind of work, and I am going to 
do more of it myself if I can — at least, I want to 
come in contact with any man who needs Christ and 
me. 

He had just been preaching about the blind man 
crying out for Christ to help him, and the surprise 
of the crowd who witnessed Jesus stop and leave 
them and their enthusiasm and worship in order to 
lift up a poor wretch who lay in darkness and 
poverty. 

The conscientious minister preaches first to him- 
self, and the truth which lay at the core of the Gos- 
pel now pushed its way relentlessly toward the very 
centre of his heart. He was moving in the footsteps 
of the Son of God — at any cost to his desire and am- 
bition and comfort. 


In the Homes of the Poor. 143 

A new ideal was rising in his sky like a bright star. 
It was claiming and receiving his attention. 

He once had aimed to be intellectually great; to 
create masterpieces of literature ; to be rhetorical and 
polished in style ; to command the admiration of the 
cultured and the rich. Now, all that must be sec- 
ondary, and he was to save men, and by every legiti- 
mate means draw them to their Saviour and into the 
Church. 

Instantly, when Grace Chalmers proposed this plan 
for Monday evening, he saw blessing in it for him- 
self as well as others, and the meeting of a great need 
in his own life, for he had not made much investiga- 
tion concerning the way the poor lived and suffered. 

Henry hesitated a moment, because this was out of 
his line and the errand was new to him, but the very 
novelty of it attracted him, and then, again, there 
were other attractions. 

He would go most anywhere to be in certain com- 
pany, but the chasm seemed to increase in width and 
depth both, while no bridge appeared. 

He tried to struggle against a certain feeling which 
he could not understand, and wondered whether he 
was a subject for the insane asylum, or what was the 
matter with him. 

The whole situation seemed ridiculous to him, but 
he could not lessen the grip of something which was 
reality, and yet he did not know what to call it. 


144 the Homes of the Poor. 

In the secret silence of his own soul, he had said 
often : 

It was ^'sentiment,’' “infatuation,’’ or a score of 
other words without definition, but he never had ven- 
tured to explain it by a monosyllable of four letters. 

That would have been best, but it was too bold for 
^ his modest and inexperienced state. 

His hesitation soon vanished like a snowflake in 
the warmth of the sun, while the flowers of his real 
desire appeared in his answer, that he would be de- 
lighted to go with them. 

The next evening, by arrangement, they met at 
Mr. Dowling’s home, and started their journey from 
that point. 

They entered a downtown car, and Mr. Dowling 
sat directly opposite to the other three, that being the 
only vacant place. 

He had been very quiet all the way, and now sat 
in deep meditation, as if no one was near him. A 
man can oftentimes be most alone in a crowd. The 
loneliest place in the world is in the centre of the 
rush of humanity which does not care any more for 
you than the car itself, and would rather push against 
you than against it. 

The car was crowded, and he was out of reach of 
their conversation, but was deep in his own thoughts. 
They motioned to each other as he wrinkled his brow 
and almost closed his eyes. The motion of his hands 


In the Homes of the Poor. 


145 


as they pressed each other told the secret of his nerv- 
ousness. No, it was more than that ; it was the hon- 
est soul in a man while in life’s greatest struggle — to 
find the right path and take it, even though the 
heaviest burden lay directly across it. 

He was saying to himself : “Let the sermon go. 
I must do more of this personal Christlike work.” 

David Dowling did not then know that that kind 
of a resolution and life was the theological seminary 
where the best doctrine and homiletics were learned. 
An essay is not a sermon — that is only anatomy. A 
sermon is something with blood in it. He was on 
his way now for the material which makes the life 
and effectiveness and saving force of the sermon. 

A minister’s study is not confined to the four walls 
of a small room and musty commentaries and moldy 
encyclopedias and machine-made sermons. 

A man on one side of him was talking to the gen- 
tleman with him about a great opportunity in busi- 
ness. Some people standing in front of him were 
talking about the theatre, and their anxiety to get 
seats for the play that night, while some one near 
him, partially intoxicated, was muttering a jumble of 
unintelligible words, with an occasional oath in the 
mixture. He heard it all, but his thoughts were too 
overpowering to be conquered by it. 

That was the picture of the whole world. The 
good surrounded by the bad, and the bad making the 


146 In the Homes of the Poor. 


most noise. But the good is here, and, though less 
often seen and heard, has not less power. 

A single man with a holy determination is a greater 
factor in the world than some whole carloads of ordi- 
nary humanity. 

As the car stopped at one of the crossings a small 
boy, burdened with a great bundle of clothing, which 
he was apparently returning to the tailor shop, tried 
to push his way on the car. The package was larger 
than the boy, and he was almost exhausted, as he 
dropped it partially in the doorway. 

When the car started on, the conductor seized the 
boy by the arm and said: ‘^You can’t have that on 
here. You will have to get off again. It is in the 
way, and we are not supposed to be an express cart.” 

The little fellow looked puzzled and frightened all 
at once, and apparently did not know what to do. 
With only a nickel, and more than a mile to go, what 
should he do? 

The car was at the next crossing, and the heartless 
conductor had his hand on the boy’s shoulder again, 
ready to push him off, when suddenly a young man 
arose, who sat near the door and had heard it all. 

He was Henry Fielding. The same impulse, so 
often appearing in his life, was at work again, and 
if all the world tried to stop him, he must go on. He 
suddenly seized the bundle, stepped in front of the 
boy, and said: 


In the Homes of the Poor. 147 

“My boy, you stay on that car — at least till I get 
off.” 

He then raised the huge bundle to his shoulder and 
stepped as far away to the opposite side of the plat- 
form as he could, and stood there with the load on 
his strong shoulder and the poor boy in front of him, 
amazed at his kindness. 

Some of the passengers had not seen it, because of 
the calmness and skill with which it was done. 
Those who had were almost as much astonished as 
the boy himself. 

The most startled one of all was the conductor. 
He pulled the rope and then began to talk, but the 
car went on its way, and Henry never spoke a word. 

He stood like a giant, the kingliest among men. 

Three pairs of eyes were fastened on him with a 
peculiar gaze. 

Elsie was proud of her brother, and straightened 
up, as if she wanted to tell everybody that she was his 
sister. 

David Dowling looked at the deed of courage and 
love, and glanced away to the floor to mutter, almost 
audibly : “Not far from the kingdom.” 

It was almost like Jesus, as he looked at the young 
man and loved him. 

Grace was possessed with a different thought and 
feeling from the other two. It was something more 
than admiration. Money could not win her. Posi- 


148 In the Homes of the Poor. 


tion could not win her. Character was the only mag- 
net. The divinity in manhood was the only sceptre 
to which she would ever bow. 

When they were to leave the car, Henry asked the 
boy how far he had to go. It was several blocks dis- 
tant. He then turned to the conductor, and inquired 
if he would allow the boy and his bundle to stay 
on the rest of the way. If not, he would go to the 
end with him. 

The conductor did not turn his head, but answered 
gruffly — almost an indistinct grumble : “Yes, he can 
stay.” 

The influence of that act was impressed upon every 
witness, and they were to carry it to others, while 
the wave was not to break until it reached the shore 
of Eternity. 

As they walked toward the corner, Mr. Dowling 
turned a look at the disappearing car, and then said : 
“Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these, 
ye did it unto Christ.” 

Henry did not feel any pride. There was almost 
something of the opposite in his heart that prompted 
the immediate turning of the conversation into an- 
other and more welcome channel. He said: 

“Are we to trust ourselves to these two young 
women. How do we know where they will take 
us?” 


In the Homes of the Poor. 149 

“I feel perfectly safe,” replied Mr. Dowling; “let 
them lead the way and we will follow.” 

Grace did not turn around, but went right on, 
and only said : 

“You need not tremble. We will not harm you, 
and we will not let anybody else do so, either. We 
will be your protectors to-night; at least, I am not 
going to take you to any place where I have not 
been before.” 

They turned another corner, where the accustomed 
saloon gave out its bright light and poisonous odors. 

A young man pushed through the half-screened 
doorway and staggered out toward the curb. He 
brushed against Mr. Dowling in his reeling movement 
and mumbled some meaningless sentences as they 
passed on. 

David Dowling turned to look at him, and a burn- 
ing desire to rescue him from the precipice just in 
front of his stumbling steps took possession of his 
heart. 

He paused and then walked on again, as he said 
to Henry: 

“Oh, what a pity that the saloon is permitted to 
ruin so many of our best young men. That poor 
fellow, even in his drunkenness, is marked with re- 
finement, and I imagine came from a good home, 
possibly even religious influence. But what can a 


150 In the Homes of the Poor. 

man do for him? Nothing, to-night. I would stop 
and talk to him and do anything to help him. That 
is the way I feel now, but you might as well talk to 
a piece of wood or block of stone ” 

“Perhaps better,” interrupted Henry, “because he 
would probably only insult you and swear at you.” 

“Yes, and I wish to Heaven that we could do 
something to prevent these stations along the road 
to perdition from transacting their awful business,” 
said Mr. Dowling. “It is a disgrace to our civiliza- 
tion and an outrage upon humanity. These places 
ruin more young men in one night than my church 
saves in five years. They are also the greatest enemy 
of the -workingman.” 

Just then Grace paused at the foot of a dark stair- 
way. 

“I have been here before,” she said; “don’t be 
afraid. Follow me, and they will be glad to see us, 
I know.” 

She went on until she reached the second floor, 
and rapped upon the door at the head of the stairs. 

A woman opened it, and appeared surprised for a 
moment — not at seeing Grace, because she knew her 
— ^but at her companions. 

The woman was only about thirty years of age. 
She carried a careworn and almost discouraged look. 
In every feature was the mark of trouble deep cut. 


In the Homes of the Poor. 151 

The smile had disappeared, evidently never to re- 
turn. 

Oh, the tragedy of such a life! 

She had married with brightest prospects of a 
happy future in a home of her own. The years had 
come freighted with a great load of struggle and op- 
position. They had tried hard and honestly to make 
a living for themselves and their two children, but 
now her husband was in one of their two rooms, 
suffering not only the pain physical, but the greatest 
pangs of the soul also. 

Despair was thrusting its blade into his heart. The 
world was dark. It was midnight all the time. He 
could want himself, but to see his wife and children 
lack the very necessities of life was more than he 
could bear. Death would be a relief, but he was 
not a coward, and suicide did not even suggest itself 
to him. But just what they were to do, he did not 
know. 

Grace in her own way changed the atmosphere of 
their poor home into a welcome for herself and her 
friends. 

She told them she came simply to inquire about 
Mr. Robbins, and that she wanted him to know her 
pastor, and also Miss Fielding’s brother. 

It was a poor substitute for a home, and that sacred 
name ought not to be given to such places. Here 
human beings could only exist, not live. 


152 


In the Homes of the Poor. 


The children were asleep together upon an old 
lounge, and the curtain between the two rooms had 
been drawn aside, so that the father could be seen, 
while Grace stood midway between the rooms, and 
Mr. Dowling had gone to the bedside and asked 
what the trouble was. 

Grace knew the sad story, and she helped him tell it. 

He had been employed by the street car company 
to take the place of one of the strikers, and was on 
his last trip for the night. The car had almost 
reached the terminus of the road. 

Every passenger was out. He and the conductor 
were alone, when suddenly from a place in the shadow 
of the electric light a brick was hurled and broke the 
headlight, while almost at the same instant another 
had come with better aim, and struck him on the right 
shoulder. 

He had turned the handle almost enough to stop 
the car when the first crash came, thinking that some- 
thing had exploded under the car, and was just real- 
izing what had taken place and getting ready to turn 
on the power again and escape, when the blow, as 
from a bolt of lightning, paralyzed his arm and side, 
so that he could not move. 

He had almost fallen, but was up again, unable to 
lift his hand, or do anything, and the car came to a 
standstill. It all happened so quickly that his com- 
panion had not reached the front of the car before it 


In the Homes of the Poor. 153 

was surrounded by angry men. They seized him and 
dragged him over the inclosure, and beat him with a 
half dozen blows at once. They called him “scab” 
and “tramp” and cursed him, and left him on the hard 
pavement, more dead than alive. 

Help was soon there, and employees and policemen 
had scattered the strikers after a battle, in which 
seven had been injured and one man shot by an of- 
ficer. 

They were determined to break the car, and had 
succeeded in its ruin before they fled. When Mr. 
Robbins recovered sufficiently, he was carried into his 
poor home about twelve o’clock at night. 

The feelings of his broken-hearted wife, after wait- 
ing weeks for employment, could not be described. 
Death itself would have been a relief for either one, 
and that night they imagined that even the children 
would be better off without them. 

He said now to Mr. Dowling: 

“Don’t think that I blame the strikers. I don’t 
know what to say about it. I didn’t want to take 
the job. It was a case of necessity. I must steal, 
starve, beg or take the risk of their threats. They 
warned us often enough. They ought to have bet- 
ter pay and shorter hours. They ought not to work 
seven days in the week. They are right. I would 
rather be called anything else in the world than a 


154 the Homes of the Poor. 

'scab/ I am on their side, and I felt guilty every turn 
I gave the electric motor. The company can get men 
enough — poor sticks, most of them — but they don’t 
ask any odds of the old and faithful employees. I 
did it for the sake of my wife and babies, and here I 
am. I wouldn’t do it again. I will stand by my fel- 
low workmen. Better for a man to starve than to 
be a slave.” 

The man was so earnest and almost excited that 
Mr. Dowling had to interrupt him in order to get an 
opportunity to say anything, but "Mr. Robbins,” he 
said, "it certainly cannot be right for one man to 
pound another. There is no law or liberty in that. 
That is barbarism, and not Americanism.” 

"Yes,” said he, "but what will the men do? I step 
in and run their cars for the same old wages or less, 
and then their families suffer. It is only a change of 
people, that is all, and the condition remains the 
same.” 

Mr. Dowling did not know what to say for an in- 
stant, but ventured : 

"Yes, but it must be wrong, and I hope some other 
way can be found.” 

"So do I,” said he, "and I hope they will find the 
way for all men to earn an honest living.” 

"The rule is,” said Mr. Dowling, "that men do have 
a way, but I suppose there are exceptions. Most of 


In the Homes of the Poor. 155 

the needy people are to blame themselves, or their an- 
cestors.” 

-But I ” 

'‘Wait a minute,” continued Mr. Dowling. "I don’t 
say that you are to blame, only that I think that 
there are not many exceptions to the rule in this great 
city.” 

"Yes, more than you think, and it makes a man al- 
most believe there is no right and no God, or any- 
thing like I used to think.” 

"Hold on, there is a God and He is caring for you. 
Out of all these troubles and reverses there will come 
some good and a speedy relief.” 

"It has been a long time coming,” said he. "There 
must be something wrong with either society or with 
me. Perhaps it is with me, but I know it is not 
with Mary and the babies,” and then the great tears 
rolled down his face. 

Grace took a step nearer to him, and said : 

"Now, you know me, and you will not starve. Just 
cheer up, and there will be a better day.” 

"Yes,” spoke out Henry, "I am in with the work- 
ingmen, and perhaps I can help you in some way. I 
have not much, but here is two dollars for you to- 
night,” and he laid it on the table by the hand of 
Mrs. Robbins. 

David Dowling had been in many a dilemma in his 
life, but at no time more so than now. He wanted 


156 In the Homes of the Poor, 

to say and do the helpful thing, but he did not know 
what it was. 

That is the old problem for the earnest soul. 

At last he took hold of the man’s hand, and said : 

'T am your friend, and I will see you again. I will 
pray for you when I am not here, but I would like to 
pray for you now. God does live, and He lives for 
you. Trust Him. I have been in the dark, too — not 
just as you are now, but in another way, and just as 
dark for me. I can sympathize, but there is no relief 
— only in God. Do you want me to pray?” 

It was not a very hearty reply which came from the 
sick man, but he half whispered, '‘Yes, I would like 
to have you.” 

They all kneeled, and one of the most earnest 
prayers arose from those poor surroundings. It 
seemed as if Christ was there. It was so much like 
some of His work when upon earth. 

One minister was coming to learn the art of the 
Christ — coming to receive the joy and satisfaction of 
Christ. 

They had tarried so much longer than Grace ex- 
pected, and most of the evening had passed already, 
but they hastened on another block and a half, and 
stood in front of a dilapidated old building of five 
stories in height, with a very narrow stairway to 
reach the upper floors. 


In the Homes of the Poor. 157 

Grace said : “Here is another one of my families. 
I want you to see them.” 

“I am afraid it is too late,” replied Mr. Dowling, 
as he looked at his watch, and said: “It is almost 
nine o’clock.” 

“Oh, that won’t make any difference. I am sure we 
can find her,” answered Grace. “She sews half the 
night, and I want you to see how some people have 
to work.” 

They were already on their way up the stairs, and 
Henry called out to the leader to ask if there was no 
end to the climb, or if they were ascending an Eifel 
tower. 

When they reached the fifth floor, the single 
roomed home was opened for them, but it was almost 
too crowded to receive them all. 

A small woman, with bright but worn appearance, 
arose from her sewing machine as her child of twelve 
years opened the door, and told her that Miss Chal- 
mers was there. 

She could not understand the late visit, or the com- 
ing of so many, until Grace had explained it by say- 
ing that she wanted her to know Mr. Dowling and 
her other friends, who could not come any other time, 
and this was later than they had planned, but she 
added : 

“I knew you would be at work, and would not mind 
the hour, or so many of us coming, either.” 


158 In the Homes of the Poor. 

There were only two chairs, and another with the 
back broken, also a lounge, which another child of 
eight years occupied. 

They could not all sit down if they had desired to 
do so, but that was not necessary now, and Grace said 
she need not apologize, because they would not sit 
down if she had twice as many chairs. They must 
not stay, only a moment or two. 

It was a room, clean, but oh, so small and close and 
poorly lighted. It was ruin to eyes and health to 
work so many hours each day in a place like that, and 
then to sleep in it for the few remaining hours of the 
night. 

The dream which many people in the great city 
have concerning heaven is that there will be room 
enough. So crowded here, ''room” is another name 
for heaven in the tenements. 

David Dowling and Henry Fielding stood speech- 
less, and had each his own thoughts and feelings, but 
they were not so very far apart. 

Grace was explaining to them that this woman had 
cared for her husband in this same room for two 
years, while he was dying daily of consumption, and 
that she was such a hero that she not only looked af- 
ter him, but supported the little family and paid the 
rent. The doctor did not come very often, but even 
he had never lost a farthing by her. 

"I do not see how it is possible,” said Henry. 


In the Homes of the Poor. 159 

“Well, she is doing the same now. Tell them, Mrs. 
Mason, how much you get for your sewing.'’ 

The color in her face deepened, and she hesitated 
for a moment, but then said : 

“Well, I am almost ashamed of it.” 

“You need not be the one to be ashamed,” said 
Grace. “The people who make you do it for them 
are the guilty ones.” 

“Yes,” said Henry, “and society ought to make 
them blush more than it does.” 

“I am thankful,” she replied, “to get it at all. It 
is my living now, and I don’t know what I would do 
if they stopped me.” 

“What do they pay you ?” queried Mr. Dowling. 

He was afraid she was forgetting to tell them, and 
he was anxious to know and hear the story of a poor 
sewing woman, first hand and for himself. 

She looked up at him and said: “I am making 
vests now, and I get for my work on them six cents 
apiece. I can make five of them in the day, and if 
I work at night until twelve o’clock, I can make 
eight. Sometimes Minnie and I work until later than 
that, and make ten. She does what work is done here 
about the room and the cooking. Of course, that is 
not very much, and then we work together. I fur- 
nish my own thread and machine. Fifty cents, sir, 
is a good day for us, and we are ready to sleep on 
that. I make cheap trousers, too, and get for them 


i6o In the Homes of the Poor. 


one dollar and a half a dozen pair. It takes me al- 
most three days for a dozen.” 

Mr. Dowling never moved his eyes from the wo- 
man’s face. 

He was almost transfixed at hearing such a reve- 
lation of the real truth, and seeing it all for himself. 
He could not help feeling that there were many 
wrongs to be righted in the present system, and that 
his Gospel must have a bearing, upon it. 

“But you know,” she continued, “we are glad and 
anxious to get it at that price. Many women right 
in this tenement would be willing to take my work if 
they could get it, and some of them, too, would do it 
for less.” 

“I don’t know who is to be blamed,” said Henry. 
“I hope that it will be better for you, anyway, very 
soon. I work every day, and work hard, but I am 
sure that I do not know yet what you know about it.” 

“I wanted you to know,” said Grace, “that you had 
friends, and we will not forget you, will we?” she 
asked, with a glance and turn toward them all. 

They all nodded, and Elsie asked if there was any- 
thing she needed now especially. 

The woman would not own that there was, and said 
they were getting along very comfortably. 

They all bade her good-night, with the assurance 
of their friendship and interest in her, and promised 
to come again. 


In the Homes of the Poor. i6i 

Some money had been left on the table without a 
word, and Christ whispered “inasmuch” again. 

Another life and family had been touched by real 
Christianity. Less toil that night, and sweeter rest — 
some light through the cloud. 

Mr. Dowling remarked with a sigh, as they reached 
the last step of the stairway : 

“One half of the world does not know how the 
other half lives.” 

“Unquestionably,” said Henry, as they passed on 
toward the car. 

“Much of the poverty and suffering comes directly 
and indirectly from sin, but we have seen at least 
some to-night which apparently does not. Yes,” 
continued Mr. Dowling, “it has been a revelation to 
me. Christ would have been helping this class of 
people more than I have, and I am going to do my 
part in the future. I do not believe that any man 
knows the real Christ-life who simply preaches to a 
rich congregation, and is satisfied with that. My 
life in the ministry has not been satisfactory to my- 
self. I have had many a thought of going out of it, 
and other unholy suggestions. It is just because I 
have not gone at it in the Christ way.” 

He almost stopped as he said : 

“Henry Fielding, these have been wonderful weeks 
in my life. It seems as if I had lived years in these 


102 In the Homes of the Poor. 

days. I have been praying that it might be the same 
with you.” 

Henry looked at him, and replied : 

“Your prayer has been answered.” 

They were about to part, and Mr. Dowling said : 
“I have my sermon for next Sunday. You will 
have to be there.” 




\ 


•> 


,1 


CHAPTER IX. 


A he:ro in the PUEPIT. 

David Dowling was more truthful than his con- 
science made him believe, after he parted from his 
friends. He had said to them that the experience of 
the evening had given him his sermon for the next 
Sunday. 

While that statement was not literally true in let- 
ter, period and comma, yet it was the very heart of 
the truth. 

He had his sermon for Sunday morning planned 
before this, and was ready to announce it in the pa- 
per and church bulletin the next morning, but now 
it was charged with new life. It was practically a 
new sermon. He must change it and fill it in and 
preach it entirely different from the original plan. 

Most of the time in his life when he had mapped 
out and written his sermon, he laid it away to rest 
sweetly until Sunday morning, and hardly awakened 
it long enough for a half hour’s sensation in the 
church, and then usually it went to eternal rest. 

Now it was his own blood and own heart which 
was to make the sermon. It was the result of a holy 
compulsion. 


164 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 


He had convictions and consecration, but they 
were more than sentences and words. 

“I must — and I ought,” were more than many sen- 
tences to him now. 

They had enlarged into the most important words 
in his vocabulary. 

The great strike had continued in the city, and it 
had come to the hour when everybody was being af- 
fected by it, and intensely interested in it. 

He said: “The Church is one of the places, if not 
the first place, in which to discuss it, and help to fur- 
nish the remedy. If this does not vitally affect the 
Kingdom of God, I would like to know what does. 
Christ had something to say about the most import- 
ant elements in the society of His day, and I am His 
representative to-day. God helping me, I will bring 
the light of the Gospel into this darkness, and the 
peace of Jesus into this strife between capital and 
labor.” 

This righteous resolution was being carried into 
effect each day of the week by most earnest prayer 
and preparation. 

The announcement of his intention had spread 
among his own people, and among the union men. 
Most of them who did not know him only said : “Oh, 
he is on the side of his parishioners, and will only 
touch the surface of it, and will leave the men to 
suffer the same injustice.” 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 165 

There was excitement in the church, because two 
of the officials in one of the street car companies were 
members of his church, and several other people who 
were regular attendants at the service, were known to 
own stock in the railroads of the city. 

The building was crowded when the hour for the 
vSunday morning service arrived, and some were go- 
ing away rather than stand up the whole hour. 

- There was a cry which only angels and the ear of 
God heard this morning in the pastor’s room just 
as the organ began to play and the choir to take their 
places. 

“Oh, God, help me to be true to Thee, and to every 
man this morning, even if it costs my position or my 
life.” 

And then a man appeared on the platform, whose 
face shone like the faces of his companions in the 
private room. 

Those who had known him best and longest said 
they had never seen him look so noble and almost di- 
vine. 

A clear, courageous conscience changes any man’s 
face. 

What is it but the index of the soul ? 

The most interested and attentive listener was 
Henry Fielding, and, strange to say, he heard scarcely 
any of the opening service. He was otherwise en- 
gaged. Prayer became a reality to him again. He 


i66 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 


was buttressing and barricading the sermon and mak- 
ing it a mighty fortress of power. That is largely 
the strength in the sermon. 

You can plant the seed in a cave, and not have 
flower or fruit. The sermon is planted, but needs the 
warmth and light of sunshine and necessary environ- 
ment. 

After a pause, which brought perfect quiet all over 
the building and arrested attention, David Dowling 
arose, walked to the edge of the platform, and stood 
one side of the pulpit, with his hand on the open 
Bible. 

At any other time he would have trembled and 
found his introduction the hardest part of the ser- 
mon. Now he seemed conscious of the presence of 
Christ, and recognized that he was simply his mouth- 
piece. He raised his hand slowly, and then dropped 
it upon the Bible again, as he said : 

‘‘Here is the constitution for every labor union, 
and the only rule of life for every employer. The 
question which I am to discuss this morning is of 
vital import to society and the Church, and the King- 
dom of God. While I propose to s^eak unhesitatingly 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, 
I will not intentionally be personal, but want it to 
have its application to my own life as well as to that 
of every other man. 

“I understand the union man and his object better 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 


167 


than I ever did. I have seen the sufferings of the 
poor more than I ever have. I am convinced of cer- 
tain injustices in modern society and the duty of the 
Church of Jesus Christ to assist in making the wrong 
right. We cannot be sileni beholders of oppression 
in any form, and the ravages of selfishness without 
bringing upon ourselves just condemnation, and mak- 
ing our precious Gospel to lose the last vestige of 
power over the individual and his society. I would 
give my very blood at this instant if I could only show 
the spirit of Christ through His Church, to every 
workingman in this city. 

'‘We are nearer right and nearer to His cause than 
they think, but we are not all up to the point where 
the Saviour of man stands. 

“If the Gospel in the heart of the employer does not 
kill selfishness, I will never preach it again.’’ 

There was an evident effect produced by this sen- 
tence, and after a pause, Mr. Dowling continued : 

“Understand me, I did not say that it did not have 
that effect, and that there are not genuine Christian 
employers. There are many of them, but I do declare 
that that is what the Gospel does do for every man 
who has the right to be a member of the Church. 

“Before I proceed with the sermon, I must tell you 
what my eyes saw this last week, and if I could, I 
would reveal to you what my heart felt.” 

Then he gave the audience a vivid and touching 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 


i68 

picture of the scenes in the homes of the poor, and 
told the sorrow of the man who had been called 
“scab’' and injured, and yet did not blame the men 
who had beaten him. As he finished the pathetic ac- 
count, some handkerchiefs were seen, and some mem- 
bers were nodding to each other. 

One man, who was presumably a union man, and 
sat near the door, spoke out in a subdued and almost 
frightened tone, “He is right.” 

Mr. Dowling gave no heed to any movements or 
sound, but went on to say : 

“There is no question before the public more im- 
portant than this one. It has so many radii reaching 
out from its centre to the very circumference of so- 
ciety. Discussion of it is valuable, but the day has 
dawned for Christian activity. 

“In our greatest prosperity there are thousands in 
want of food and clothing. Thousands who are hon- 
est and industrious. They may not have great abili- 
ty, but they are not lazy, nor are they criminals. 

“Witness every strike we have in these great cities. 
Why are they nearly always ineffectual and result in 
greater loss to the employees? Because there are 
waiting ten times as many men as are needed to take 
their places. A strike has come to be almost of no 
avail, unless it is backed up by force, and then we 
cry 'outlaws’ and 'criminals,’ ‘barbarism,’ 'ought not 
to succeed.’ 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 169 

‘And this is also true, that most of the men who do 
come to take the places of the strikers are simply will- 
ing to take their lives in their hands in order to feed 
their wives and starving children. They are not rush- 
ing into this hazardous work because they like its 
danger or find pleasure in the labor. It is often not 
even to earn wages for themselves, but the sublime 
struggle and sacrifice for others. What will the work- 
ingmen do under existing conditions? Is it right to 
strike? Does the strike furnish the remedy? Every 
man who is a patriot or a Christian ought to help fur- 
nish an answer to these questions. 

‘‘What will the man or body of men subjugated to 
oppression do? There is a real question in the 
world of labor. It is not all imaginary. It is the most 
vital element in our city’s life now. If there is want 
of work and want of justice, something is wrong 
somewhere. 

“It is not caused by the introduction of new ma- 
chinery. At the first reception of new machines there 
is a displacement of labor, and oftentimes with such 
rapidity that much hardship results. Then comes 
strikes and the destruction of property. But all the 
history of this tells one story, that within a short pe- 
riod of time several men are employed in the place 
of every man deprived of work by these victories of 
inventive genius. Every time society gets a service 
rendered with less of human effort, blessing immeas- 


170 A Hero in the Pulpit. 

ureable results. No man can trace its ramifications 
through society. 

‘‘Stage drivers and hostlers and waiters and farm- 
ers lose occupation when the stage coach is stopped, 
but that number has been multiplied a thousand 
times by the vast number of railroad employees, and 
at far better wages. Progress means new demand, 
but patience must be exercised. After the machine 
has done its momentary work and apparent injury, 
the years pass on to bless it. Nor is the present con- 
dition of want of food and want of work due to the 
poor country in which we live. There is an abundance 
for all. There is enough in this rich land for more 
than one hundred times as many in the family. We 
can waste a hundred million of dollars a year in to- 
bacco and one billion, five hundred million a year in 
rum, and just here is the great burden of sin upon the 
workingmen. The larger part of that enormous ex- 
penditure and worse than waste is from his scanty 
store. He is guilty, and he has sufferea the penalty. 
By economy and temperance the workingman could 
save and become independent, and perhaps employ- 
ers themselves. If one man drinks up his money, 
he ought not to curse the other man who saves it. 
Let every man bear his own just share of the respon- 
sibility. The workingman ought to rise up against 
this startling waste and sin. He ought to declare it 
as his greatest enemy and fight it to the death. 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 17 1 

“Neither is the present condition produced by the 
influx of foreign labor. This is not great enough as 
a factor. The poor and unskilled labor has been hin- 
dered, and it should be. The incompetent and crim- 
inal element of old world population should not be 
permitted to land on these shores to take the places of 
skilled and faithful men by accepting less pay. 

“Blame the laboring man as you will, I say he must 
protect his wages. That is one purpose of his union, 
and it is not a fault. His skill and his reward are his 
property. Why not insure it and protect it? It is 
more sacred property than real estate or the steel 
rails of street car companies. He ought to use every 
legitimate means to keep it. 

“What right has a street car company to thrust a 
faithful employee’s wages down and increase his 
hours of toil, and do it by the force of placing the 
lives of our citizens in the keeping of another ignor- 
ant and careless man who turns an electric motor for 
less pay? This is the problem, but it is not the su- 
preme factor or the real producing cause. Neither 
has the monopoly*or combination of the present day 
as tyrannical a power over man and society as many 
have supposed. They have lessened the working 
forces in some directions, but have increased it in 
others, and in time there will arise out of these 
changes now new demands. 

“They cannot do as they please, nor charge what 


172 A Hero in the Pulpit. 

they will. The element of competition has not been 
silenced. The moment the price is raised where there 
is a profit in it for others, many will grasp the oppor- 
tunity. Labor was practically in the same condition 
and struggle before this new feature in the social 
world. 

'T read yesterday the writing of one prominent 
union man, who said : 'The promised prosperity has 
arrived — the genuine, unadulterated article ; and how 
the capitalists rejoice. But the wage slaves! Oh, 
they are not to be considered, only as so many tools 
or machines that are only fit to toil and support the 
idle capitalist when it seems to be the most profita- 
ble. Workingmen, do you realize that you and your 
class are the only ones who can and will give your- 
selves any better conditions? Strike the capitalist 
intrenchment in its weakest point. Capitalism or pri- 
vate ownership is wholly responsible for all the vice, 
crime, misery, want and servitude of the masses. 
Strong men willing to work starve while gazing 
on stores of food which is controlled for private in- 
terest. Little children go to bed hungry, while cap- 
italists are feeding on luxuries they never earned. 
The miner digs into the bowels of the earth, hid away 
in a dungeon, toiling out his own life, scarcely see- 
ing the light of day, to support a class who never 
aid in production, but feast on the blood and sweat 
that has been coined into dollars. Get rid at least of 


A Hero in tHe Pulpit, 




the superstition that there would be no capital if 
there were no capitalists, for it is this absurd notion 
which keeps you in bondage; which makes each of 
you look beggingly to some capitalist for employment 
instead of looking fraternally to each other for mutual 
service in co-operation.’ 

‘‘He writes extravagantly and does injury to his 
own cause. That is not the right method to pursue, 
nor is the cure presented, only in a vague and hack- 
neyed way. There is something deeper than that. 
Many wise men and true hearts have advocated the 
public ownership of public utilities. That would pre- 
vent the repetition of this present situation. This is 
undoubtedly true in a measure, and I wish it was in 
effect to-day, but that only touches the public utili- 
ties, and leaves out the general condition and great 
question. 

“No city ought to be subjugated to the inconvenience 
and injustice of a street car strike. That affects other 
people more in some instances than it does the corpo- 
ration or their employees. Our rights and liberties 
must be considered. Light, water, postal, telegraph 
and transportation services ought to be under Govern- 
ment control. The crime of the past is the cause of 
the penalty to-day. We give away valuable fran- 
chises and hundreds of millions of acres of land, and 
these days are the result. Here are the most frequent 
and bitterest strikes, and it ought never to have been 


174 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 


possible. The old world is ahead of us, and the gov- 
ernments are making great revenue from the very 
things in which the individuals and corporations in 
this country are hoarding their millions. 

‘‘This is not the extreme of socialism. It is only 
good government and good sense. Even in the pres- 
ent position, no strike should be possible in these de- 
partments of our life and commerce. Here at least 
we could have a permanent court of arbitration, 
whose power was final. Our business should be es- 
tablished upon the principle of our Government. 
There we have a king, but he is controlled ; there we 
have the people, but they are not a mob. Both are 
governed as well as governing. 

“In the case of the capitalist, he is a most import- 
ant element in our society. In proportion to his good- 
ness is his value. The workingmen are just as valu- 
able to society, and we have a multitude of the best 
in the world. The good capitalist, like a good king, 
is one of the greatest blessings, if he does not op- 
press his fellowmen, and is willing to divide reason- 
ably the profits with his employees, and surrounds his 
iactory or men or railroad with an atmosphere of 
brotherhood and love. He may be a benefactor, in- 
deed, but if he is a bad man, he is like the king who 
becomes simply a tyrant on his throne. 

“So the workingmen are the very sinew of our life. 
They are now the lower class. They are on a level 


175 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 

with the best. Every citizen ought to be a working- 
man in the best definition of that term. If the work- 
ingman is industrious and honest and economical, and 
possesses ability, he is not only a necessity, but one of 
the greatest elements of wealth in our society. Neither 
employer or employee ought to rule this country un- 
guarded. That is contrary to every principle of the 
Republic. You make kings and create mobs to your 
shame and your death. We have individual liberty, 
bounded by law. It is almost an outrage to put in 
the hands of any one man or corporation the interests 
of a whole city. 

^Tn this present crisis I am impressed with the cer- 
tainty of the men being in the right. They have been 
oppressed for months and years by an increase in 
their hours of toil, with no rest-day in the week, as 
God ordained, and as every man has the right to pos- 
sess. More than that, there has now been made a 
slight reduction in wages. It is the hour for a strike, 
if no other power will secure justice. Why is all this 
increase of hours and lowering of wages ? Is it be- 
cause the stockholders are growing poorer? No, their 
dividends are increasing and they are growing richer 
every day. It is only the process of selfishness. 

‘^Forgive me if there is any offense, but I must 
speak the truth, even though I die in the utterance. 
Do I advocate a strike ? No, it ought to be the last 
resort. The workingmen may have made the mistake 


176 A Hero in tlie Pulpit. 

*of taking this last means too hastily. After every- 
thing else has failed, what is there for the men to do, 
if not to strike? 

“We are coming nearer the day when arbitration 
will settle these disputes. That is the next great 
epoch in the history of labor, but until that hour, I 
know of no other procedure than that which is adopt- 
ed. I am not prepared to say how it shall be con- 
ducted. I don’t think there should be force used to 
the bodily injury of other men, nor should there be 
the destruction of property. I am convinced that the 
end would be attained and public sympathy aroused 
more quickly by the right and lawful way. 

“Public opinion is the great force to keep upon your 
side. You must lose if you lose that. You forfeit 
that by undue haste or lawlessless. 

“Now, I am afraid that some of you have disagreed 
with me, and perhaps may be even offended at me, 
but both employers and employees listen. Be calm 
and fair. Hear me through. I do not stand for my 
own opinions this morning. I stand for the thoughts 
and purposes of Jesus Christ. What are the great 
principles which he came to introduce into the world 
of business and labor ? Both sides must abide by his 
decision. You cannot escape it, for even the judg- 
ment throne of God is governed by the Gospel. 

“A distinguished statesman, who now holds the 
high office of associate justice of the Supreme Court 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 


177 


of the United States, said recently: 'You ministers, 
are making a fatal mistake in not holding forth be- 
fore men, as prominently as the previous generation 
did, the retributive justice of God. You have fallen 
into a sentimental style of rhapsodizing over the love 
of God, and you are not appealing to that fear of fu- 
ture punishment which your Lord and Master made 
such a prominent element in His preaching. And we 
are seeing the effects of it in the widespread demoral- 
ization of private virtue and corruption of public 
conscience throughout the land.' And an authority 
higher than any statesman or jurist has said : 'I will 
forewarn you whom ye shall fear: Fear Him who, 
when He hath killed the body, hath power to cast 
both soul and body into hell.' It is a sad and awful 
truth that sin kills beyond the tomb. To hide this 
truth from men by cowardly silence is disloyalty to 
Him who hath called men to preach His Gospel. 

“The judgment is a part of the Gospel, and every 
man must face it. The capitalist will answer for 
every dollar that he has made, and the laborer will an- 
swer for every strike he has inaugurated or in which 
he has engaged. 

“I have said once that Christ would belong to a 
labor union. I have no reason now to change that 
declaration. At least, if he would not belong to it, I 
ought not and you should not. Neither do I see any 
reason why Christ could not be an employer, but the 


178 A Hero in the Pulpit, 

same divine principle would control his acts in either 
place. 

‘‘It is selfishness, pure and unadulterated, which is 
at the source of misunderstandings and quarrels be- 
tween capital and labor. We are willing that Christ 
should reign in the Church on Sunday, but not will- 
ing that he should rule in our lives on Monday. 

''Men are not controlled by Christ’s law of service 
and sacrifice seven days in the week. We talk about 
progress in the world. There is no progress apart 
from unity. We must all keep together, and no man 
be left behind. That is both philosophy and religion 
— yes, it is the fact itself. The hovels of the poor are 
not far from the palace gates. Dives and Lazarus are 
blood relatives. Leave one part of the city in ignor- 
ance and want, and the other part in progress ? Never. 
We move, but we must all keep together. That is the 
principle of every word upon the lips of Christ, and 
every act in his life. This is the brotherhood of man ; 
this is the fatherhood of God ; this is the triumph of 
the Gospel; this is the programme of Christianity. 
The Golden Rule is not a farce, but a glorious possi- 
bility and reality. The end of all this must be Chris- 
tian arbitration. Strikes are dangerous and injurious, 
if not altogether wrong and contrary to our Christian 
and political principles. There ought to be some 
other way, and there must be. What is in store for 
factories and places of business and homes, and even 


179 


A Hero in the Pulpit. 

the Church, if a mob of people using lynch law shall 
triumph? What is in future for men if the railroad 
corporation succeeds without arbitration? It would 
be perilous to the best interests of us all to have them 
meet with success and force men to work for less 
than they earn. 

“Would to God a court of arbitration could be es- 
tablished on Christian principles, and the impulse 
would push the world rapidly nearer the throne of 
God. Would to God that you employers here to-day 
could take hold of the pierced hand of Christ, and ask 
Him to lead you. Do not hesitate. Make the ven- 
ture — dare to face duty. It is right, it is the only 
right ; your eternity is in it. Make your Christianity 
real. Show it to these men — yes, show Christ to 
them. That is your first business. Give them jus- 
tice — aye, more than that — give them sacrifice or you 
do not share in Calvary. 

“Oh, you men who are in the labor unions of the 
city, whether in the street car strike or not, hearken 
to me. This is not rhetoric now. This is my blood. 
Give Jesus Christ a chance in your life. Your em- 
ployers may not be all to blame. Is your record in re- 
lation to them perfectly clean? Have you always 
done unto them as you would that they should do to 
you ? Stand up like a man against every wrong meth- 
od, and only do what you know the Carpenter of Naz- 
areth would do in your place. Make the Gospel prac- 


i8o A Hero in the Pulpit. 

tical. It can be. It was intended for your union and 
your toil. Christ wants you ; the Church wants you ; 
I want you — every man of you, to give your hearts 
to the Lord Jesus and serve Him. 

'‘The only remedy for labor and all trouble is His 
Divine Spirit in the hearts of individual men. Christ 
saved society, but, man, he must first save you.” 

There was perfect silence in the great audience for 
a half minute after Mr. Dowling finished. 

Then the services closed in almost the same quiet, 
and few tarried to speak with each other. The im- 
pression was so great. The burning conviction of a 
true man had entered the hearts of every listener. 

The preacher went immediately to his room, and 
wondered, but was satisfied. Duty done is the author 
of peace in the soul. 

Within two months, twenty-nine members of the la- 
bor union had accepted Christ as their Saviour, and 
became members of David Dowling’s church. 



CHAPTER X. 

HENRY FIEEDING S CONVERSION. 

In the last meeting of Union No. lo there had been 
a most earnest desire manifested to do the right thing. 
More so than ever before. Now the business and dis- 
cussion were more personal, and yet the men were 
more conservative and charitable than in the past. 
Most of them were not conscious of it, but it was 
plainly manifest. Some new power had control, and 
they were breathing a purer air. 

The question now was not one of strikes in gen- 
eral or concerning the street car strike now going on, 
but it was their own interest and their own families 
which were to suffer. They were sure of the lockout. 
It had passed beyond the boundaries of threat and 
was assuming a distinct form of reality. 

Most of the men were undecided. They wanted to 
be independent and heroic enough to fight and starve 
if necessary, but their case was not altogether a clear 
one. There were two sides to it, and they were honest 
enough not to desire to ignore that, and close their 
eyes willfully to the rights of their employers. 

The rabid enthusiast was. heard many times during 
the meeting that night. A decision must be made 


i 82 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

and the narrow vision could only see one way. Throw 
down the challenge and go into battle without count- 
ing the cost, or placing the cause into the scales and 
taking time to let it balance 't 

Never had they held such a meeting in the display 
of true manhood. It was not a radical, unreasonable, 
unjust denunciation of the men who employed them, 
but a spirit of nobility and desire to come to a right- 
eous reconciliation. 

The rule is that there is only one result to that feel- 
ing in the soul, whether in factory or home. Church 
or State, on earth or in heaven. There may be excep- 
tions, but the rule remains. 

That meeting, long to be remembered by every man 
who was there, lasted until twelve o’clock at night, 
with the victorious result of the appointment of a 
committee, consisting of Henry Fielding, James 
Watts and the Rev. David Dowling, to go at once to 
the employers and strive to adjust the affair satisfac- 
torily to both sides. 

The conclusion had been reached that it was more 
misunderstanding than fault on either side. It was 
the new way of doing it, but it was unquestionably the 
right way. 

If war is ever righteous anywhere, it can only be 
so as the last resort in securing justice. There is a 
better way first. This was that better way. 

It was a new experience for David Dowling again, 


Henry Fielding^s Conversion. 183 

but he was not the man to hesitate now. He had 
passed that, and was rather anxious to serve the 
workingmen in any possible way, and this had been 
one of the dreams of the past weeks : “Why not the 
preacher, the man supposed to be nearest Christ, act 
as a peacemaker ?” he had asked himself, and they did 
not know it, but he was ready for the opportunity to 
try this Christ method in labor disputes, as well as in 
every other place. 

The very next morning, as soon as the information 
reached him, he went to the factory, and at noontime 
the three entered the private office by appointment 
for the conference. 

The conversation was almost too sacred to be re- 
peated. 

The revelation of kindness and good intent was be- 
yond their expectation. Neither the members of the 
firm, nor the superintendent displayed any ill feeling, 
much less any anger. 

They said they would rather keep their old men, 
but only insisted in running their own business in 
their own way, which they would guarantee them 
was always in the interests of their employees, as well 
as themselves. They tried to make it plain that the 
introduction of new machinery was essential to suc- 
cess there, and even to the keeping of the factory run- 
ning. They had to be up with the times. It was a 
case of necessity, and not selfishness. Quality and 


184 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

quantity of work must be turned out, and where it 
changed the hands about, and in some cases demanded 
a less number, it would in the end result for the good 
of all. 

They finally agreed to keep them all, at least for 
the present, and see what the future demanded. 

One of the employers spoke up and said : 

"T don't honestly believe that I want to see your 
families suffer any more than I do my own. I am 
willing to sacrifice for the good of every faithful man 
in this factory, but you don’t know how I have 
passed my nights this last year. I have worked all 
my life up to this point, and it looked dark many 
days at noonday. We have made just half this year 
what we made two years ago. Of course, it is not 
our business to tell our men all that, but not one of 
them has lost a dollar of his wages this year, even 
if I have lost a part of that which I gave my whole 
life to secure.” 

His parther interrupted, and said: 

*^Yes, I have 'Wished sometimes that I was one of 
the men in our employ instead of having this load on 
my hands.” 

Henry explained the position of the men as best he 
could, and said it looked so much different from their 
standpoint, but he believed every man of them, when 
the report was returned, would do the right thing. 


Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 185 

and would be more content in the future — at least, 
not so quick to condemn. 

Mr. Dowling told them of his confidence in the 
victory of the Christ spirit. While they might not 
be members of the Church, it nevertheless remained 
true everywhere that the principles and example of 
the Saviour of men were destined to triumph. They 
need not fear them, nor regard them as something 
foreign to a labor union or a factory. It was the very 
intent of the Gospel to settle all these things for the 
good of all. 

“Gentlemen,'' said he, “I never felt so much in my 
life the possibility of bringing the Christ into all the 
relations of life, and sweetening them by His divine 
influence. I used to preach a Gospel. I am now 
going to preach the Gospel — yes, and practice it, 
too, God help me." 

There were three men in the firm, but only one of 
them was a Christian. Not a word was said, but if 
silence ever gave consent it was at that moment. 
Every man in the room was saying in the secret 
quiet of his own soul, “There is a better way — this 
is it." 

Misunderstanding and misrepresentation are twin 
demons standing between capital and labor and work- 
ing night and day in their diabolical efforts to bring 
up the forces of either side in battle array. A calm 
consideration and a Christian charity would settle 


1 86 Henry Fielding^s Conversion, 

almost every contention and strife in the industrial 
world. Wise and unselfish arbitration would change 
the whole aspect of each individual case by itself, and 
the whole horizon of the world of labor — yes, it 
would drive every cloud from the sky, and heaven’s 
own blue would reflect a world of peace and love. 

Union No. lo had learned its greatest lesson in 
an hour of sublimest experience. Their employers 
discovered their fault and made most sacred prom- 
ises. The relations were never so harmonious, and 
the contentment was never so sweet. 

The next Sunday evening two of the firm and the 
superintendent were in Mr. Dowling’s church, re- 
vealing their respect for him, and appreciation of his 
action in behalf of the men. They did not condemn 
him for coming in the committee of the men, but 
honored him for it, and wanted to hear him. They 
had said to each other : “He is a manly fellow, dif- 
ferent from some ministers. He does not live in his 
pulpit. He lives among men. He is not one of your 
droning, sniveling specimens. He is alive.” 

That was the very Sunday evening when one of the 
greatest manifestations of the power of the Divine 
Spirit of God’s direct answer to prayer were given to 
David Dowling. 

It had been a simple Gospel sermon about the 
young man who had kept the whole law, and to whom 
Christ said, “One thing thou lackest.” He was dra- 


Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 187 

matic in his style, and his picture of this scene and 
a demonstration of Christ’s anxiety and love for the 
noble fellow was most vivid. 

When he came to the tragedy of the scene, where 
the young man would not surrender, and went away 
in sorrow, it seemed as if everybody in the building 
could see the very event itself. 

One of Mr. Dowling’s hearers saw himself in his 
morality going away from Christ, and in sorrow, too. 
It was Henry Fielding. He was saying to himself: 

*‘It is myself, it is myself. That is just what I 
have done; I am doing it to-night. Why not give 
up? — I am in the wrong.” 

A hundred times the same thoughts and convic- 
tions shot through his very soul. He tried to drive 
them away, or at least not let his feelings be apparent 
to any one else. 

Immediately after the service, Grace came up to 
him, and with the same expression of delight to meet 
him, she said: 

“Oh, was not that a splendid sermon ? How strik- 
ing the picture !” 

Henry had moved a half-dozen times while she was 
saying only those few words, but not away from her. 
He hastened to make some response about her 
father’s health, as he had been ill for some time. 

She answered him, but was too much interested 
in something else just then. She came to say it. 


1 88 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 


She hesitated. She said, “I will,” and then looked 
into his face, and said: 

"‘Mr. Fielding, I wish you were a Christian.” 

Henry was never so bewildered in his life. He 
did not expect it from her. He could not just realize 
it. He did not know what to say. He turned his 
head away for a second, and then looked in her eyes, 
only to discover a tear. 

It was a more brilliant and valuable jewel than the 
diamonds in her ears, or the ruby upon her fingers. 
What could he say? There was only one thing 
to say. 

If he would be honest before a girl who dared to 
do that, and before the girl whom he even dared to 
love, he must say only the one thing. 

In a partial whisper, he replied : 

'T wish I was, too, but do not talk about it to- 
night. You have said enough,” he continued. 

Just then, in the plan of God, Elsie appeared, and 
said : 

^Henry, are you most ready to go ?” 

“I am afraid not yet. I wonder if you could not 
go alone to-night, sister. I want to see Mr. Dowling 
before I go, and I do not know how long I shall be.” 

“Certainly,” said she. 

“I will see her half way,” said Grace. 

“Yes, we will take care of each other,” added Elsie. 


Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 189 

Henry turned away as if anxious to go, and very 
nervous in every movement. 

wonder what he wants of Mr. Dowling to- 
night,” said Elsie. 

“Never mind,” answered Grace, “you let them go. 
I think I know.” 

“I can guess what you mean ; I am so glad. Do 
you mean that he wants to talk to Mr. Dowling about 
becoming a Christian ?” asked Elsie. 

“Yes, that’s just it, and we will both pray for him. 
I know it will be all right,” said Grace, with a 
mingling of earnestness and joy. 

Henry had already approached Mr. Dowling, and 
before he had opportunity to make his desire known, 
the warm hand of the preacher had grasped his, and 
the warm heart had gone out after him again, as 
often before, and now the direction of the Spirit was 
heeded, and he said : 

“Henry, I was preaching to you to-night. Christ 
loves you. You were that young man, moral and 
good, but you are going away from Jesus, and I 
know you are not happy, either. Why not make the 
surrender? You know what is right — do it, and do it 
right away. If you have faults to find with me and 
the Church, forget them now. You cannot find any 
fault with Christ.” 

Mr. Dowling was going on in his enthusiastic ex- 


190 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

hortation and plea, when Henry, with his eyes to the 
floor, interrupted, and said : 

“I have not as much fault to find as formerly. 
You can depend upon that. I was mostly in the 
wrong — I did not understand. Yes, I did not under- 
stand myself, nor you, nor the Church, nor Christ, 
nor anything else, as I should. I look at it differ- 
ently now.” 

“I am so glad to hear that,” said Mr. Dowling. 
“Come into my room for a moment, won’t you ?” 

“Yes,” said Henry, in a manly, determined tone of 
voice. 

As they walked toward the door of his room, Mr. 
Dowling said : 

“I am very tired to-night, but I will stay here all 
night, Henry, if you will only give your heart to 
Christ.” 

When once the door closed behind them, and the 
key was turned in the lock, Henry Fielding felt that 
he had never really understood a minister. 

What occurred ought to be only for angel vision. 
It was just like Christ with the young man, or Nico- 
demus in the night-time. They were both honest 
and earnest, and in such a case the result is inevit- 
able. 

Mr. Dowling simply opened his heart at the first, 
and told of the meaning and the power of Christ in 


Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 191 

his own life. How temptation and sin swarmed 
around him, the same as any other man. He said : 

'‘Henry, don’t think that I live in a different world 
from yours ; and that what is real to me, will not be 
so to you. You will have one enemy to fight, and I 
will have another, ‘but His grace is sufficient.’ You 
do not know what I pass through in battle, but I am 
determined to have a character at whatever cost to 
am determined to have a character at any cost, to 
anything else in my life. I used to be anxious for a 
reputation, and even was so low in my aim at one 
time that I wanted only a good salary, but all that is 
changed. I am crying to God every day to make me 
like Christ, and I will pay the price. This is always 
part of my prayer, ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee, e’en 
though it be a cross that raiseth me.’ I have even 
told Him to take my health, or loved ones, or any- 
thing, only leave me in the image and likeness of 
Christ. You do not know what a struggle is in my 
life. Just look at this one peril of the minister. He 
is so tempted to be jealous of the other men. You 
would think that might be the last fault. He ought 
to rejoice in the prosperity of every church and every 
preacher, but there is the difficulty. The other man 
has a larger audience, or more conversions, seem- 
ingly greater prosperity. Then jealousy mounts the 
throne of my heart, and demands my subjection. I 
have been a slave, but, God helping me, I never will 


192 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

be again. This world is large enough for my neigh- 
bor and myself both, but the old and mean feeling 
keeps coming up when he seems to have the best, 
and the tendency to injure him pushes its foul self 
to the front. Now, Henry, some of these things may 
not seize you with such a relentless grip, and other 
things may be more powerful in your life. The 
enemy is there, facing us all with a boldness which 
only wickedness possesses, but I want you to know 
that Christianity is not only for the preacher, but 
for every man. I am first a man, and just like your- 
self.’^ 

Henry sat with eyes fastened apparently upon a 
picture hanging at the side of the room, but it was 
not there to him. It was all blank wall. He was 
listening to every word from the lips of one whom he 
respected most, and whose spirit was now making 
him seem nearer every moment. 

He wanted to do right, and was an honest seeker 
after truth, but to him the new birth as yet seemed 
mysterious and unreal. 

He was doing the best »he could ,he thought, and 
what more does a new birth mean? 

“Now,” Mr. Dowling said, “there is one thing you 
lack.” 

“What is that ?” asked he. 

“That is conversion.” 

“Just what do you mean by that?” queried Henry. 


Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 193 

“Except you be converted, and become as a little 
child, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” 

“Yes; but what is conversion?” 

“Only this, Henry. Convert means to turn around 
- — face about. You have your eyes toward yourself 
and your own moral life, and even your sin. You 
must turn around and face Christ. That is all. 
Trust Him, love Him, and serve Him. One side of 
that great act is faith, and the other side is repent- 
ance. You repent of your sin, and you trust in 
Christ as your Saviour. Is that not simple? This is 
the meaning of Calvary to you. This is the divine 
plan of salvation for us all. You may not live much 
differently in the future outwardly, but you will live 
with a different disposition and a new spirit. It is 
just giving up to God^s way, in sorrow, for all the 
sin of your life. Isn’t that simplicity itself? The 
great m3^stery of the universe, and yet a child can 
understand how to say 'sorry’ to God. I asked my 
little boy Will, eight years old, when he gave his 
heart to Jesus, and instantly he replied, ‘Why, papa, 
ever since I first heard of Him.’ Was not that beau- 
tiful? Why do not all men treat the Saviour like 
that?” 

“Well, Mr. Dowling, I am ready, in as far as I 
know, to do it. This has been creeping over me for 
some weeks — in fact, ever since I first began coming 
to church, and I have been awake many times in the 


194 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

night this last week, and have even tried to pray my- 
self right/' 

“This is all, Henry; just this prayer now settles it 
ror eternity : ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner, for 
Christ’s sake.’ That is coming to Christ, and that is 
going to heaven. ‘He that believeth hath everlast- 
ing life.’ ” 

They knelt at the same chair. The hand of Mr. 
Dowling rested on the farther shoulder of his com- 
panion, and great tears dropped from four eyes to the 
floor. 

Angels carried the news to the city of God, and 
there was rejoicing around the throne. 

Elsie was awake when Henry came in, but she was 
in her room, and refrained from telling him her joy, 
or asking the one important question. Never' had 
her heart such an effort to control her lips, but she 
did, and it was best. 

In the morning there was a strange occurrence. 
No, it was almost the ordinary one, but, alas, always 
unexpected. 

Henry anticipated that everything was going bet- 
ter. 

Elsie expected a new world, but the great tempter 
was planning his best work. He always does. 

For the first time in a year, the alarm clock did 
not awaken Henry. In his excitement the night be- 
fore, he had forgotten to wind it. When his eyes 


Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 195 

opened in the morning, he was half an hour late. 
All things were in their wrong places, and haste only 
made waste. 

Just before he was going away, Henry said some- 
:hing to his sister, which had in it only the shadow of 
unkindliness, but it was a sword as large as the one of 
Goliath thrust into her tender heart. 

She could hardly control her feelings, and the door 
closed with more of a bang than usual, and he was 
gone. 

Elsie sat down, and had it out the girl’s way — a 
good cry was a relief. 

Henry could have done the same, if he dared. He 
said : 

“There can be no reality in what I did last night. 
I am not a Christian yet, or I would not have said 
that to her. She did not do anything. It was all my 
own fault, and I am glad that I did not tell her about 
my new life before I tried it.” 

Henry Fielding was in the warfare that they had 
talked about, and his enemy was doing his very best 
to conquer. 

This was the last opportunity. 

That was the longest and hardest day he ever had, 
but it was a day of victory, because he had stamped 
his foot a score of times, and said, “I will.” 

As soon as he entered their home that night, he 


196 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

did not place his hat before he went to Elsie’s side, 
and said in tenderest tones : 

^^Elsie, I want you to forgive me.” 

That was the greatest evidence of his conversion, 
but he did not realize it. 

She sat down and had to cry again. 

There was something else in it now, and when her 
brother attempted to comfort her, she only said: 
^‘Wait a minute, and I will tell you.” 

Then she told him of her happiness ; that they were 
tears of deepest joy, because he had become a Chris- 
tian. She knew it, even though he had not told her, 
and she said : '‘Your doing this, which you never did 
before, is the best proof. Your coming to me in this 
Christ-like way tells the whole story. Now, I can 
reveal another secret to you. I could not tell you 
before; I was afraid you would not bear it, as I 
know you will now. You can bear all things now 
through Christ, and I am sure this will be such a 
sorrow and disappointment to you. You have been 
so good to me, and such a noble brother. You have 
made so many sacrifices for me and my music les- 
sons. I have done my best to learn, and you know 
how far I have advanced, especially with my last 
teacher, but every time your hard-earned money 
went to pay for the lessons, I felt as if I was guilty of 
a crime, and now this is the saddest part of it.” 

'T will bear it, and no^care. What do you mean ?” 


Henry Fielding^s Conversion, 197 

he asked, as she made the slightest pause. “Tell 
me,'' he said, anxiously, as he rose and looked down 
at her. 

“I have been waiting for weeks to tell you, and I 
don’t want you to feel badly.” 

Then she held up her hand in front of him. 

“What do you mean ?” again he asked. 

“Do you not see, Henry, how the two middle fin- 
gers are getting out of shape.” 

Henry looked puzzled, and asked again : 

“Elsie, do you really mean that there is something 
the matter with your hand ?” 

“Yes, Henry; I have been to the doctors, and it 
has only been growing worse. It is rheumatism, and 
is coming in the other hand, too. They say it is in 
the joints, and this is the bitterest drop in the cup 
for me, that all your money and sacrifice have been 
thrown away.” 

“Now, Elsie, wait ; this cannot all be a.<; you think. 
Something can be done for it, I am sure.” 

“No, they all say the same thing, and I have been 
just as careful as I possibly could. I have tried 
everything, but it has all failed. I waited until I was 
sure before I told you. It increases slowly, but there 
is an increase all the time. I have not taken any les- 
sons for two weeks. It is no use any more. I will be 
satisfied, Henry, if you will only bear the disappoint- 
ment. I can stand anything now, since you are a 


198 Henry Fielding’s Conversion. 

Christian. This is only a part of what Christ suf- 
fered for us both.” 

“You are the bravest, best girl in the world, worth 
a dozen others, and I shall x.ever regret any gift to 
you; but I believe there is hope yet. We will try 
every remedy before w^e give up.” 

Henry did not realize it, but it was rheumatism, 
and Elsie’s worst fears were to come to pass. She 
never played the piano after that night. The disease 
continued its ravages until she was crippled for life, 
but she was a queen among women, because of her 
Christian fortitude and faith. 

She set a bright example for all the world who 
knew her. 

Patience and trust, the sweetest, rested in every 
feature of her face, and in every move of her crippled 
form. 

What a strange day this had been for Henry, the 
first day after his conversion. No, it was not strange ; 
it was only part of real life. The bridge was built. 
This was the weight to test it, before the security 
was certain. 


CHAPTER XI. 


TH^ CHASM BRIDGED. 

One year and a part of the second has passed into 
the records of a Christian life, since Henry Fielding’s 
conversion. 

Never was there a more kingly attitude assumed 
in a man’s relation to the Master of men than he car- 
ried into every part of his life. His spirit and cour- 
age won the admiration of all his fellow-workmen, 
and, during these short months, his influence had 
brought several of them into the Church. 

Richard was one of the first to come under that 
power, which is almost beyond resistance — a manly, 
Christian character. 

Henry did not talk it much, but how beautifully 
he lived it, and revealed the possibility in every work- 
ingman’s life. 

His constant effort was to bring the Church in the 
right light before the men and the union, and in- 
crease the solidity of the confidence in the minister, 
and his interest in them and their work. 

This had grown upon them all, and David Dowling 
had come to be a potent factor in the organization. 
They no longer shivered in his presence, but now 


200 


The Chasm Bridged. 


crowded up to his great warm heart, as to an open 
fireplace in a world's winter. 

Henry Fielding’s life had completely changed 
within a few short months. The change was almost 
as great as a move from earth to the planet Mars — 
perhaps greater, for, after all, would that be so great ? 

Time is the large element in life’s changes, and 
in unraveling mysteries and revealing destiny. Yes- 
terday and to-day are not all. That makes a puzzle 
without an answer. 

Henry had learned to say ‘‘to-morrow,” and to be- 
lieve in the future of a conscientious and sacrificial 
life. 

Only a short period of time had intervened be- 
tween the present condition, under a starry sky, and 
the first moment when he looked into the face of 
Grace Chalmers, and saw what his eyes had never 
seen before, and what no one else saw at that in- 
stant. 

Those are visions not to be described, and feel- 
ings enveloped in too great a sanctity for exhibition. 

But as no one knew what his eyes carried into the 
deeps of his soul, so no one knew the bitter con- 
demnation of himself, and the imagination that there 
was something wrong with his head as well as his 
heart. 

He almost instantly saw a great chasm appear be- 
tween himself and his ideal of woman. 


201 


The Chasm Bridged. 

As the days passed, that deep, wide and dark ob- 
struction seemed to grow deeper and wider and 
darker, but there are bridges over such depths. The 
world is not made to doom man to disappointment, 
and to cruelly mock him. Heroic honesty in life, and 
character, and purpose, is an architect almost divine. 

Not all the reward of sacrifice is reserved for the 
upper world. In the plan and providence of God, 
the earth is good enough for some of it. 

He had given himself in sublimest sacrifice for 
Elsie and others. He had unhesitatingly taken the 
bright star of hope from his own sky, and transferred 
it to hers. The money saved for himself and for the 
purchase of his ambitious dream, was lovingly laid 
in her hand. It was not lost. Even rheumatism 
could not be the robber. It was the most righteous 
and profitable investment. Dividends were never to 
be withheld. 

The old home in Vermont had been sold, the in- 
debtedness upon it paid, and the remnant c f the 
money used to purchase a small, but beautiful, home 
for them in the suburbs of the city. 

The change from the crowded and unattractive 
third-story rooms into this new and comfortable 
place was one of the strands for the bridge over the 
chasm. It was not accident or chance. It was in- 
tended. It brought him and Grace Chalmers nearer 


202 


The Chasm Bridged. 


together. There was distance and depth yet, but it 
was not so great. 

There was another cable for the bridge, when 
Henry was promoted to the position of foreman in 
his department. It was one of the greatest surprises 
of his life, and still no one was more worthy of it. 

For years his fidelity had never been relaxed. His 
quick eye and hand learned with great rapidity. It 
was most appropriate now that his ability and loyalty 
should be recognized. 

The foreman had lost his position through some 
disagreement with the men and his employers both, 
and no greater astonishment could have been met 
than that of Henry when he was summoned to the 
office, and asked to accept the position. His salary 
was multiplied by three. 

That elevation brought him nearer to the young 
woman whom he had ventured in almost audacity to 
more than admire. 

During the year her father, who had been ill for 
several months, had died. His pride, which would 
have been the greatest obstacle, was thus removed. 
He had spoken to Henry, and even engaged in short 
conversation with him at the church, but never 
dreamed of the great secret in his heart. 

This was the most gigantic barrier of all, and now 
the chasm was narrowing. 

But the largest and strongest cable in the bridge 


The Chasm Bridged. 203 

was his own surrender to Christ. There was not 
anything in the world so powerful in winning Grace 
Chalmers as the might and attraction of character. 

She had liked Henry Fielding before. That sur- 
face element was changing into something deeper 
now. Her religion was the most real part of her life. 
It was the best part of any other life, in her estima- 
tion. 

Her father had left her a small fortune in her own 
right, but she did not think of that, like most rich 
girls, as being the real value and the wealth of the 
world. To her, that was secondary to the eternal 
values. 

If many girls of her standing in society were 
frivolous, and recognized not the wealth of goodness, 
she was not alone in her position. There are many 
young women, with fortunes of their own, who are 
not all for society, and show, and sham. She was not 
the exception. She was only a representative of a 
number. 

She often said: care not what others do. I 

am first going to serve God, and in order to serve 
Him, I must serve others. That is the only way I 
can be like Him, or show my love for Him. I must 
live for God, by living for others. There is no other 
way.’^ 

What a simple thought, and yet it is the sublimest 


204 


The Chasm Bridged. 


philosophy of the world. It is Christianity — it only 
is Christianity. 

Her own disposition and life was the greatest cable 
of all in the bridge. Reality could be in Henry 
Fielding’s dream, because she was what she was. 

Each day had added something to the strength of 
the unseen bridge, until the eventful and fateful night 
in December. 

Henry ventured to step upon it, and cross to her 
side. To the deepest joy of his soul, and almost the 
deepest surprise, it did not break. 

He had kept the precious secret for a whole day, 
and was making it known to Elsie the next evening, 
when suddenly there came a slight knock upon the 
door. 

wonder why they don’t ring the bell,” said 
she, as she rose to go. 

“Never mind, it is hard for you to get up. I will 
go,” said Henry, and started for the door, without 
waiting for the bell. 

What amazement as he looked out into the blind- 
ing snowstorm, now drifting all over the porch, to 
see a pale, emaciated, and almost frozen form in the 
doorway. A young man, so changed, but not be- 
yond recognition. It was Will, their brother. 

For an instant, Henry forgot his awful crime, and 
welcomed him as if nothing had ever happened. 
He seized him by the hand, and with the other hand 


The Chasm Bridged. 205 

upon his left arm, almost drew him across the 
threshold. 

Elsie was near the two brothers in an instant, and 
threw her crippled arms about his neck and kissed 
him. 

She then flung herself into a chair, and sobbed as 
if her heart would break. 

He seemed speechless, and too cold to talk. 

They warmed him, and fed him, and waited patient- 
ly for explanation. 

He commenced several times to tell the awful 
tragedy of these months of his life, but Henry and 
Elsie both kept saying : 

''Wait, now, until you get warm. We have time 
enough.” 

But at last it came, and in such pathos, that they 
all wept together, as he pleaded for their forgiveness. 
He kept on saying : "I did not mean to do it. I did 
not know what I was doing. It was the poison that 
I had been drinking. Oh, God forgive me,” he cried. 
"I have been in the place which they say is the doom 
of the lost. I know what it is. Remorse — remorse — 
remorse. No one can describe it. No one knows. I 
could not stand it longer. Now, I want to suffer the 
penalty. I am not only willing to, but I want to. I 
must.” 

He told them of the horror of that night in their 
old home. How he had fled, and walked, and ridden, 


2o6 


The Chasm Bridged. 


and hidden, all the way into Canada. There he con- 
cealed himself and his crime for months until con- 
science had driven him almost mad and made him 
feel that death was preferable to such a life. Neither 
a Hugo nor a Hawthorne ever made the picture of 
an awakened conscience too vivid. It is reality. It 
is suffering beyond all human agony. It had almost 
changed every feature of the man. It had forced its 
way into every drop of blood in his veins. It came 
as reality in the daytime, and as a ghost to frighten 
in the darkness. He could not escape. Conscience 
discovered his hiding-place, and forced him to seek 
another, only to instantly frighten and condemn him 
again. 

‘‘Oh,’" said he, 'T wished I had done like George 
Roebling.” He was one of their old neighbors, and 
went to school with them. They had been constant 
playmates in childhood. 

‘What did he do?’’ asked Henry. 

“Why do you not know. He became a drunkard, 
too, but he did not strike his mother. He went 
away to the West to make his fortune, and gave great 
promises to his mother as to how he was going to 
come after her, and care for her all her life. But, 
instead of getting rich, he went into bad company, 
and, step by step, went down until he was the lowest 
of the low, a drunken tramp, and thus he wandered 
all the way back home to his mother, who had not 


207 


The Chasm Bridged. 

seen him for years, or heard from him. She re- 
ceived him into the old home, and cared for him, and 
told him to stay until he had conquered his appetite 
and temptation. 

'‘One morning she gave him some money to go 
over the mountain, to a town where they were hold- 
ing temperance meetings, and many men were being 
saved. He went, and she told us how she kissed him 
good-by and waved her handkerchief to him as far 
as she could see him, and then went back in the house 
and prayed as she had never prayed before. 

“When he reached the place rain was falling, with 
a mixture of snow. He had no overcoat or umbrella. 
He went to the church, and it was closed. He tried 
to find the speaker, and could not. It was only four 
o’clock in the afternoon — four hours still before the 
meeting was to be held. No door was open to him, 
except the door of a saloon. He went in, and wrote 
a note to his mother like ihis,” and Will could hardly 
push the words across his lips : “ ‘Dear Mother — I 

am cold and wet. The church is closed. Everything 
is closed except the saloon. I am in the same misery. 
The old appetite is back again. I have been drink- 
ing; there is no hope for me. I know you will for- 
give me. It is for your sake as well as my own. 
Forgive me. Your boy, George.” 

^‘When he had written this note, he reached across 


2o8 


The Chasm Bridged. 

the bar, and seized a revolver which was lying there, 
and sent a bullet crashing through his brain. 

“God knows that story was sad enough, but how 
much worse is mine? Would to Heaven I had killed 
myself before I struck the best woman who ever 
lived, but now I must pay for the crime. I have paid 
in part, but now I will pay it all.’’ 

He paused a moment, and then said : 

“I did not come to trouble you. I will not dis- 
grace you any more than I have. But I came this 
way to see you and ask forgiveness, and then go and 
give myself up.” 

“Oh, my,” said Elsie, “you shall not do that. Can- 
not there be something done ?” 

Henry sat with his eyes to the table, and did not 
know what to say. 

Elsie continued: “I will do anything for you. 
We will give up the home, or anything, rather than 
have you do that.” 

“No,” said he, as he clenched his hand in firm- 
ness, and bit his lip. “I must do that, and only that. 
I cannot hide any longer. I must face the penalty.” 

Henry looked up, and said : “I would not see you 
suffer if I could help it, and you have my fullest for- 
giveness, but what other way is there out ?” 

“There is none,” said he. “I do not want any. If 
I am paying the price of my crime, it will be the 
first and only peace I can get,” 


The Chasm Bridged. 


209 


He remained with them only that one night. All 
persuasion failed, and his determination was imme- 
diately carried out. 

The hard master, conscience, was obeyed. 

The sentence of life imprisonment was the pen- 
alty, and the law of the harvest was proven again. 


CHAPTER XII. 


IS THIS A DR^AM? 

The week before a new home was to be estab- 
lished, and the harmony of two hearts united to make 
the sweetest music on earth, Henry was awakened in 
the night, at the end of a strikingly real dream. 

It was one of those clear visions of the night hour, 
which seemed to possess almost as great, if not great- 
er, reality than that which the eyes see in brightest 
light. 

Everybody recognizes the experience of a sudden 
start and wakefulness in the night, and the first won- 
der — whether it is a dream or actual life. 

He could hardly make himself believe he was not 
just what this peculiar part of human life had made 
him think he was. So vivid had been the lightning 
flash in the darkness that it kept his eyes open for an 
hour, and his thoughts rushing against and tumbling 
over each other. This dream might have had an in- 
troduction in the hours of some day, but he did not 
reco'gnize it. 

He had now seen himself suddenly transferred 
from foreman in the factory to the place of owner 


Is This a Dream ? 


2II 


and employer. Something like this had once been 
the star in his sky, but he had thought it a shooting 
star, and that it had fulfilled its mission and disap- 
peared forever. He had changed his plan of invest- 
ment, and all his savings had been placed in Elsie’s 
life. 

That was a mystery now, but it was the greatest 
treasure he ever had in this world or the next. 

The strangest thing in human existence is the 
working of Providence, but it is, none the less, a cer- 
tainty. 

Plan, purpose and prayer do not always return in 
the same garments in which we dress them, as we 
send them out on their holy errand, but they return 
laden with richer blessing than hope or faith dared 
expect. 

Henry Fielding had now at last reached his ideal, 
and desire had been satisfied, but it was a dream. 
Something only for a night, and a disappointment — 
a mushroom instead of an oak. 

In his dreams he saw himsef at the head of a great 
business, conducting it on Chrisitian principles, and 
securing the interest and sympathy of all his em- 
ployees. He had discovered the great secret. There 
was no clashing, and no outburst of jealousy. There 
were no bitter, biting sentiments being uttered on 
either side. There were no strikes, and no possibility 


212 


Is This a Dream? 


of them. The spirit of Christ was not foreign to the 
spirit of successful commercial enterprise. The 
Golden Rule and the Sermon on the Mount were not 
enemies of the employer or employees, either one. 

That which awakened him was the sound of his 
own voice, and he was saying, “Heaven bless your 
union. Our interests are one.’' 

He held the secret of his dream, but it would not 
say good-by to either his memory or imagination. 

The day before the joyful sound of the wedding 
bells he had revealed the strange vision to Grace, 
and said he wished he might, for her sake, as well as 
his own, change his position, and attempt to reach 
the ideal of his life. 

They were one in spirit and desire, to reveal Christ 
to the world, and especially to the workingmen. 
Never did two hearts carry sweeter love. There was 
no chasm — his wish was hers. 

The proposition was made by her that a part of 
her money be used in the purchase of a site and the 
erection of buildings suitable for the same business 
as that in which he was now engaged, and that he be 
at the head of it, to try the effect of the Gospel, and 
example of Christ in every department of it. 

After two years of hardest toil and almost rigid 
exemplification of the principles of his Christian life, 
Henry Fielding stood in the presence of all his em- 
ployees, to say: 


Is This a Dream? 


213 


“The plan which has been adopted here so far will 
be continued. We will meet every six months, and 
talk over the interests of this business, because its 
welfare concerns you just as much as it does me. I 
propose that you shall have your just share of its 
profits. I shall not hold any selfish secret from you. 
I am not only willing, but desirous, that you shall 
know the condition of the business, and that you 
shall pass your opinion concerning the share which 
you think you should receive. 

“The risk is mine, the plan and strain are mine, 
and I am confident that you will recognize all this. 
I am willing to trust you, and when I cannot, I must 
cease to conduct the business. I take you into my 
confidence, and I want you to call this your business. 
I do not believe much in some kinds of co-operation. 
Most all of the attempts in calculating and mathe- 
matical methods have failed ; but I do believe in this 
kind of co-operation, and it is a vital part of my 
Christianity. If I cannot do business right, I will not 
do it at all. If I cannot do it as a Christian, I will 
not do it at all. If I cannot do it with your love, and 
deepest interest and satisfaction, I do not wish to do 
it at all. The little money that is in it is of minor 
and trivial importance. Of what value is money, 
when it rests in the selfish hand, or is the treasure of 
a slave-holder? Money is only good to invest in 


214 


Is This a Dream? 


other lives, and in eternal interests. That is the way 
I look at this business. It is the best channel for 
mutual helpfulness. 

“If you have any grievance, don’t hold it, and in- 
crease it, but come right to me, and we will talk it 
over as brother men should. 

“Shall you continue to have your union? Yes. 
Make it just as valuable as you possibly can. Pro- 
tect yourselves, and your fellow man. Protect your 
skill ; secure the best legislation. Make the union an 
educational factor. Increase its power for good. Give 
the needy in it a share in your prosperity. Look after 
the sick and the sorrowing. Do not lose sight of the 
great object of your organization. I am not afraid 
of it. It is a friend to my factory, if we do as I have 
suggested, and as I have agreed to do by you. 
Mutual understanding and mutual sympathy is our 
salvation. 

“I shake hands with every man of you, in a 
righteous compact to do my part. When you come 
to understand what it means to furnish the capital, 
and the risk, and the brains, and the nervous strain, 
you will not ask anything unjust. I wish you would 
consider me a member of the union. Of course, I 
cannot be, and yet, perhaps, that day will come — 
anyway, when the employer might be an honorary 
member. I don’t see anything impossible or imprac- 


Is This a Dream? 


215 


ticable in my being at your meeting sometimes, or 
you might consider these meetings, each six months, 
as union meetings. I promise you it will be more for 
your good than any other gathering of the organiza- 
tion. At least, I want you all to count me as your 
best friend.” 

^‘We will, sir,” came from all over the room, and 
in every man’s heart there was an echo to every word 
he had uttered. 

As they were separating, Henry Fielding hastened 
to one side of the room, to the side of a man who 
carried sorrow in his face, and said : 

“Charles, I am in sympathy with you in the g^eat 
loss of your little boy. I only heard of it to-day. I 
had a little brother die of scarlet fever, and your 
grief carried me right back to the old home and boy- 
hood days. If I can serve you in any respect, I am 
ready to do it.” 

As he turned away, some man who had overheard 
the conversation whispered to another : “That man is 
a Christian.” 

His men were not machines. He knew them as 
best he could, and respected, yes, almost reverenced, 
manhood wherever he saw it. 

He recognized them when he saw them, and the 
slight nod of the head brightened the world for a 
workingman, and drove him toward better things. 


2i6 


Is This a Dream? 


and to the side of Christ, because he always felt, if 
he did not say, “There goes a Christian/’ 

The factory prospered. The men did not strike, 
and it was at last proven that “Godliness was profit- 
able unto all things.” “Did not Christ belong to a 
labor union ?” Was this a dream ? 


THE END. 


The Story of a Fight for a Throne 


D’Artagnan, the 
King Maker . . . 

By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 


Written originally by Dumas as a play, and now for the 
first time novelized and translated into English. 

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By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. 


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QUEER PEOPLE 

By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP. 

Author ^7/’ “Dstmoi,d.” 


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